


Precautionary measures

by theremin



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Fake Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23751811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theremin/pseuds/theremin
Summary: Tom makes an executive decision which veers his life off piste, and Greg tags along.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 101
Kudos: 236





	1. Chapter 1

Tom Wambsgans was, at the end of the day, a law abiding man. Not because he was of particularly robust moral fibre, but because he was absolutely terrified of being caught, and none of the things he particularly wanted to do were technically illegal. His poison was alcohol, not drugs. He liked ribbing people, not physically hurting them. 

However, he was also an ambitious man, and when his new and highly coveted promotion came along and he almost immediately had to take a real decision about something that could potentially fuck the company but which delineated highly, highly illegal things, he had to make a choice, and he had to do so fast. Tom attributed the fact that he had no real work experience with breaking the law, or even fudging it, to that he made the in hindsight monumentally stupid decision of telling it all to Cousin Greg, and then enlisting him to destroy a slew of damaging documents. He should have done it himself, if he was going to do it at all. But he'd been too afraid. 

After the deed had been done, he'd tried to forget about it. But he couldn't. It ate away at him like secrets often do, which is why he made his next mistake of telling Shiv, who told her father, and now he was summoned to a fucking Waystar Royco Cobra meeting with Logan himself, Shiv, and three of the most senior lawyers with the firm. They grilled him on who knew, what exactly had been destroyed, how had it been deposed of, until his head was spinning, while father and daughter looked on equally coolly, no matter how many imploring looks he sent Shiv. 

"Hm," Logan said, a creaky little growl which signalled he was thinking. 

"It's pretty much as you told us," one of the lawyers said to Shiv. "the weakest link appears to be Greg Hirsch."

Another lawyer chimed in. "He's also the most likely person to be attacked by the prosecution, as a relative newcomer."

"That can't happen," Logan said. "Greg is an idiot."

The 'too' was unspoken, but Tom heard it loud and clear. 

"Well ahhh aren't we getting ahead of ourselves?" Tom asked. "What prosecution? Nobody knows except us."

"And Greg," Shiv said.

"There have been rumblings," the third lawyer said. "someone tried selling their story, someone else wrote a big anonymous thing on Medium which is gaining traction on social media. It's only a matter of time, and the fact you attempted to cover it all up is going to make it look worse for us."

Tom swallowed. "Well uh what was I supposed to do??"

"You should have come to us," the first lawyer said. 

"Okay, I can see that," Tom said. "but what am I supposed to do now?"

"Hope nobody notices any documents are missing, and if they do, that they don't grill you on them."

"And ah, what about Greg?" Tom asked.

The lawyers looked at each other. "Well, there's a precautionary measure we could take against his summoning, if you should fall under suspicion."

Tom’s face tensed in confusion, eyes and nose scrunching together. “How can we stop the prosecution from calling Greg to the stand?" His eyes widened. “We send him away?” That felt unacceptable. Greg was his assistant, after all.

“No,” Logan said.

“A spouse cannot be called in to witness against their partner,” one of the lawyers said. Tom shrugged, not understanding. 

“Greg isn’t married.”

“He could be,” Shiv said.

“Sure,” Tom agreed. “if he pulled up outside a Home Depot and locked eyes with the right air dancer, that’s absolutely within the realms of possibility.”

“He could be married to the person who told him to destroy those papers.”

“Ohoho! Juicy!” Tom leaned back, grinning, finally feeling his shoulders starting to untense. He was Shiv Roy's fiance, after all, he should have known they would have taken care of it all for him before he even entered the room. “Who’s falling on the sword? Gerri? A little, May-December romance, a ha ha?”

“Oh, honey,” Shiv said, taking one of his hands. “we’re suggesting you marry Greg.”

The silence was very long. Tom expected a laugh, a gotcha, an "in all seriousness". But nobody said anything, so he loudly snorted, and his face contorted into another “yeah right” grimace. “Okay, first of all, I’m not gay, Greg is... in a realm beyond sexuality, like his aemoba brethren, and most importantly,” his voice went cloying and reedy as he turned to Shiv, “I’m marrying you, sugar spoon!”

“I know, honey, and I wouldn’t have suggested this if it wasn’t-”

“You suggested this?!”

Shiv bit her lip.

*

Tom had declined to make a decision at the meeting. He was sitting on the charcoal Chesterfield in him and Shiv's home, thinking. It was just all so stupid, and Tom wasn't sure how everybody else couldn't see that. Why would he, once number 87 on the list of the 100 most eligible bachelors in New York according to Tatler, give up his job and his relationship with the most beautiful woman in the world, all for a sudden onslaught of uncontrollable lust for a chocolate factory tour winner who against all odds had made it to adulthood? How was that believable?

Greg... looked like a doodle. He looked like someone, bored out of their skull at a meeting that could have been an email, used a biro to draw a man instead of taking notes. His proportions were all out of shape. He was too long. His face was an oval. His nose, straight on, was an arrow. His eyes were rimmed too black, with just large black pupils agains white, no irises. His hair was just a black shape too. An attempt at drawing a haircut that forgot what it was supposed to be doing halfway through. His lips were too pretty, all defined cupid bow and full bottom lip, nobody in real life actually have those but they’re easy to draw. He also had precisely two facial expressions: blank bewilderment or a sweet smile, helpfully dimpled so you could indicate it with two curved lines. Greg should have come with a coffee rim imprinted on him and maybe a speech bubble that said “Please kill me”. That’s how much he looked like a meeting doodle.

“Are you drawing?” Shiv asked, amused.

“Just ah, scribbling,” Tom said, ripping the paper from the pad and crumpling up the dimpled stick figure.

“Are you okay?”

Tom shrugged.

“I know you’re not happy,” Shiv said. “it’s a pretty drastic gambit. I know it’s a lot to ask. But I really think it could work.”

Tom looked at her. He knew he was expressive, some times he really tried to control himself and be icy, impassive, opaque, like Sean Connery in Dr No, but it was impossible in the long run. His mom used to say he wore his heart on his sleeve, and he was sure he was making sad dog eyes at Shiv right now, but god damn it wasn’t that what love was supposed to be? The chance to be just be vulnerable and true and your big flawed self around someone and that actually being a good thing? That actually being a preference?

“I just... have a hard time reconciling with the fact you want me to marry somebody else.”

She smiled a faux surprised smile. “Tom, this isn’t - I don’t consider this a real thing! Hey, I love you, you know that? You’re my guy, Wambsgans.” She curled up next to him on the sofa, leaning into him. “And you cannot possibly think I consider... _cousin Greg_ a threat to our relationship.”

“You know I haven’t been married before,” Tom said. “I was holding out for the big one. I was holding out for you.”

She looked at him, her eyebrows turning up. “Aw, Tom. It’ll still happen. Just a little bit further down the line. You knew what you were getting into when you got involved with a Roy. The family comes first. You made a bad call, and this is your chance to rectify it.”

"Hm."

"Tom, I'm doing this to protect you," she said, put a small hand on his face and turned it to look at her. "I don't want to see you go to jail or take the fall. All of this happened before your time! And when this all blows over, you come crawling back to me and we get married on the family estate in Scotland."

“Press is gonna have a field day,” Tom murmured.

“Soo you’re going to go through with it?” she asked.

He gave her a look, then he nodded. She leaned in for a kiss, it was sweet and warm. 

“You’re not gonna regret this, and we’re not gonna forget what you did.”

* * *

Two weeks passed. Greg, apparently, also agreed to the ruse (Tom was unsure how much lawyer intimidation had been involved). Verbal agreements were made regarding stocks, payouts and future promotions. A not insubstantial sum of money would be paid immediately to Tom under the cover of severance. Bags were packed. Statements were given. Finally Tom knocked on Greg's door, and he opened it smiling, looked genuinely happy to see him. Moron. "Hey, man!"

"Hi," Tom said sourly, shoved a suitcase at him, it made him take a teetering step back. Mondale made his way past Tom's legs into Greg's apartment, dragging his leash behind him, exploring.

"Oh uh, you brought your dog? Uh, you have a lot of luggage with you?"

"Part of the cover story, remember? I'm moving out of my lovely little nest with Shiv, into your nouveau riche bachelor pit, because I've fallen madly in love with you." He dragged a second and third suitcase into the apartment. Mondale had jumped up on Greg's sofa, pleased to be free. Shiv insisted on the crate most of the time. Greg's eyes shifted from side to side, unsure, then he put the suitcase down and went over to join Mondale on the sofa, taking the dog's head in both hands and scratching. 

"Hey, boy! Good boy!" 

Mondale's tail started thudding against the fabric of the sofa. Tom sighed and started unpacking. "Did you make some space for me?"

"Just put your stuff wherever," Greg said. "this is a cool dog."

Mondale was a thoroughbred with two prize winner parents, actually, and Tom opened his mouth to say as much, but then he shook his head instead. He walked over and sat down on the other side of Greg, Mondale happily climbing over Greg's lap to get at him. He reached out, patted the dog's head. He was going to get spoiled. Greg laughed.

"Why did _you_ agree to this anyway?" Tom asked a little suspiciously. He had wondered, but he hadn't had a chance to get Greg alone since this circus got started. They couldn't possible have offered _Greg_ more money than him? Greg's smile drew back to his usual look of bewilderment.

"Because uh, I don't want to testify against you?"

"Right," Tom said, eyes narrowing. "anything else?"

"Like what?"

"You tell me, Greg."

Greg shrugged. "Are you like, hungry? I'm kinda hungry. I could go for a pizza." He got his phone out, started tapping away. 

Tom looked at him. This was what life was going to be for a while, he guessed.

"Sooo do you know what's going to happen tomorrow?" Greg asked, not meeting his eye.

Tom shrugged. "We have an appointment at two thirty. I have uh, the rings with me. We go in, say I do, and then we go to Nice. Honeymoon. A friend of mine has a house there he's letting us borrow."

"That's cool of him," Greg said.

Tom winced a little. He didn't mention Rob had pretty much been frozen out of the friend group when he came out and that he'd reached out and offered the house after reading a brief notice about the piquant scandal of the Wambsgans/Roy breakup and Wambsgans/Hirsch engagement online (the press attention had been significantly less than Tom had feared, which he was simultaneously relieved and offended by). He really liked Nice though, and he wanted to get the hell out of New York, so he'd just thanked him.

"But I was thinking more like, during the uhh, the nuptials, the ceremony, the um the ritual?"

"What?"

"Like, vows?"

"I'm not writing you a fucking vow, Greg."

"Oh, okay."

He smiled. "Did you write one for mee?"

"No, I- I just-"

"Come on. Tell me."

"No I just- I thought maybe we had to and-"

"Oh my god." Tom looked around, saw an incongruous piece of lined note paper folded on the coffee table, reached for it.

"No-" Greg said, tried taking it from him, but Tom turned away, quickly unfolded it. "come on-"

" _Dear Tom. Thank you for making me the happiest man on the planet._ " He looked over his shoulder. "This is very moving stuff." Greg groaned a little, made a grab for the note kind of over Tom's shoulder, but Tom jerked it out of reach. " _From the moment I first met you you've made my life interesting._ " Greg finally managed to snatch the note away, leaning over Tom's back, the weight of him heavy and unselfconscious, before pulling away to push the note into a pocket. Tom patted Greg's knee, amused. Mondale was barking and furiously wagging his tail, clearly under the impression this was a fun impromptu wrestling session. "I'm very touched."

"So we don't do vows."

"Better not, huh?"

"What about kissing?"

"What."

"Well, that's like, part of it, right? I don't think 'you may now shake hands' is the line."

"Ugh," Tom said. "maybe we should just go with the flow, like, just..." he gesticulated. "not overthink it."

"That's probably a good idea," Greg said.

Tom looked at him, pointed. "Maybe not. Do not take my face in your hands, okay? I do that to you." 

"Huh?"

Tom placed both hands on Greg's face and his mouth fell open a little, his eyes very black. "I do this."

"Okay," Greg said. "um, and then what?"

"You lean the hell down, okay? Get down on your knees if you have to, I'm not getting up on my fucking toes for you."

Greg nodded frantically, then sort of folded downwards, eyes closed. Tom swallowed, looked at him. There was something stupidly earnest about him, the weird gangly fuck. Shiv had told him they weren't going to do vows at their wedding and he'd been secretly disappointed, had wanted to wax lyrical about her beauty and brains, and had quite frankly wanted to hear hers, too. Greg's vows had been... sweet, hokey bunch of cliches that they were. Something like that would have been enough, it wasn't like he'd expected Shiv to write the New Hampshire La Vita Nuova. Almost without thinking, he closed the distance between them, kissed Greg's shapely pink lips briefly but firmly, then let him go.

"There. We do that."

Greg looked a little dazed when he pulled back. "Okay uh! Can do!"

Tom noticed a flattering pink shade blossoming on his stupid pale cheeks, like paint in water. He sighed. "Then of course, there's the intercourse."

Greg stared. "Uh. What?"

"Yeah," Tom said, shrugging. "we're going to have to consummate the wedding, or it will be annulled."

"Um, oh, I-"

"We might also have to produce photo evidence, you're good with that right?"

"What? Photos??"

"I'm kidding, Greg."

"Oh! Uh, ha ha."

"Jesus Greg, did you really think we were going to have sex?" He grinned. "You and me?"

"Yeah, okay," he said, embarrassed. He really was such a rube.

They ate pizza, which was absolutely edible for all it was cheap plebe slop, Mondale lay happily curled up between them, and they watched a very dumb action movie. Not that Tom would admit to it out loud, but it was pretty nice. Kind of like being back at the frat house. 

Except, of course, he was marrying the dumbass pledge the next day. Which sucked. So when the movie was over he took Greg's bed and made him sleep on the sofa with Mondale.


	2. Chapter 2

You wouldn't think it was possible to lose six feet and seven inches of uncoordinated chucklefuck in a tuxedo, but that was what Tom appeared to have done. A moment ago Greg had been in the hallways of New York's City Hall gawping at a portrait on a wall, and now he was nowhere to be seen. Tom sweated as the realization hit there _was_ a fate more humiliating than getting hitched to Greg Hirsch - getting ditched at the alter by Greg Hirsch. He was drafting angry emails in his head as he looked around, jogged outside, turned a corner, and suddenly saw him in an alleyway, plumes of smoke wafting around him. Jesus christ.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he hissed as he powerwalked over.

"Like, taking the edge off?" Greg said. "I'm nervous."

Tom grimaced. He felt his eyes bug out of his head. "Give me that," he said, tried remembering how to even do this stuff, inhaled lightly, didn't cough but didn't really feel anything either? Maybe it would come. "Okay, let's get this shit over with."

The ceremony was mercifully brief and to the point. Greg looked pretty pale and Tom gave his best impersonation of overwhelmed romantic joy. His face hurt from smiling. He said "I DO!" probably a little too loudly and he gently threaded a ring on Greg's long finger, then Greg messed up the plan and grabbed his face and pulled him upwards for a kiss on the official's word. It was kind of long and quivery and not really like a nice formal little wedding kiss so Tom pushed him away and then looked around grinning maniacally. 

Alison, an acquaintance of Greg's who had agreed to be witness, best man, wedding photographer and dog wrangler, smiled at them, holding her iphone up. She took another few snaps of them outside City Hall, even a few with Mondale between them, which struck Tom as being the gayest thing about this so far.

"Wanna do uh, another kiss one?" she asked, as if she'd read his mind. Tom wondered who the hell this broad was. He'd never met her before. She had long brown hair and wore a kind of ill-fitting blue dress with white stars on it. She seemed kind of similar to Greg... intelligence wise. He suddenly wondered if they'd fucked. Who did Greg fuck? It had never really come up.

"I'll uh, I'll kiss your cheek, um, lean down," Tom said. Greg folded down a little, one hand reaching back to fumble at his neck, a nervous gesture Tom knew him well enough to identify by now, and Tom pursed his lips and pressed them to the side of Greg's face. 

Alison looked at her phone. "Yah that's really cute."

"Oh, can I see?" Greg asked, lurching over her.

"I'll like send these to you," she said. 

Tom frowned. He'd had enough. "Well, thanks so much for doing this Alison," he said in an oily voice. "but a ha ha me and my _husband_ are eager to get on home and _celebrate,_ right, _Greg?_ "

"Yeah I bet huh" Alison said, laughed a hiccupy, dopey laugh and put her fist up and Greg sniggered in response and bumped it. God, what he done.

"You alright, Greg?" Tom asked when there was just the two of them, walking down the street with Mondale charging ahead, sniffing everything. 

"Yeah uh, I actually feel pretty good? Like, kind of excited?"

"That's great. That's fantastic."

"So when are we going uh to Nice?"

"Late flight tonight."

"What about uh, Mondale?"

"He's coming with," Tom said. 

"Oh yeah, cool! Cool, Mondale, we're going to Europe!"

* * *

The flight was long, but the first class coupe was pretty comfortable, giving them a sort of opposing ottomans with a table between them by day and two single mattressess next to each other by night. Mondale was allowed to be with them, in his crate. He was used to it and mostly slept. They played cards and got decently sozzled on airplane wine. 

"Compliments of the airline," a stewardess said, giving them a box of heart shaped chocolates. Tom realized they were both sitting at the table, elbows on it, leaning forward and towards each other, they probably looked pretty believable as a newlywed couple leaving their old lives behind. 

"Well, thank you!" he said with a winning smile. The chocolates were wrapped in red foil paper and they used them as chips. Greg won most of them. Then he ate them.

A few hours after they'd woken up and had breakfast they landed. Greg stretched and pulled his long limbs, whining about being stiff. A waiting driver took them into the city, through the centre, up a broad street lined with palms and white buildings, and finally out to a gated two storey house up a hill. 

Mondale, tugging at his leash after hours on a plane and then another hour in the car, was set free and ran around the garden, sniffed and peed everything he could so quickly he almost fell over. 

The house was damn nice, tasteful and practical, high ceilings, designer furniture. He wondered if Rob had used a decorator or if it was some kind of gay superpower. Picking out nice furniture. He also wondered if Rob would let him use the house when he honeymooned with Shiv. He loved Nice. He suddenly became cognizant of Greg talking.

"-like I don't think this is a breathable fabric, it doesn't feel like it's breathing?" He had his T-shirt scrunched up in his hand, flapping it. "It feels like maybe it's choking. Like, I'm sweating, and it's not even absorbing it? I have uh like, rivulets? Going down my back right now?"

Tom stared. "Go take a fucking shower, then. I'm going to call Shiv."

"Yeah." He just stood there.

"What?" Tom asked. "Do you want me to join you, hubby?"

"I actually, don't know where the shower is."

"Neither do I! Find out! Fuck off!"

Greg nodded, folded his hands, looked around, and walked upstairs. Tom FaceTimed Shiv, and she picked up.

"Hi honeyy! Oh, you look so beautiful! How's my princess huh?"

_"I'm good, Tom. I just got up. What time is it over there?"_

"Just turned two. We just got to the house. It's nice. Nice in Nice. I'm going to take you here some day, you'll like it."

_"Okay baby. I liked the wedding photos."_

She sounded amused. Tom frowned. "What wedding photos?"

_"Greg uploaded them to Instagram."_

"Fucking Greg," Tom muttered. 

_"His caption was very cute."_

"What? Uh, okay, forget Greg. Sooo how are things going, is anything..."

She groaned. _"It's a shitshow."_

"It is?"

_"Apparently they're building a case. There's a plaintiff and she's being backed, we're trying to find out by whom. Unfortunately her story checks out, but we're trying to dig up all the dirt we can on her."_

"Oh uh, do you need my help?"

 _"You've done quite enough Tom."_ He wasn't sure how to read that one. _"Look, just enjoy Nice, stay away from New York for a while, and when the dust settles, come back."_

"I miss you," Tom said. His throat felt a little constricted.

_"I miss you too baby. Look, I'm on my way out, I have to go, but speak to you soon, okay? Have fun on the riviera. I'm so jealous. Have a G &T in the Negresco for me."_

"Bye-" Tom said as the screen went black. Greg came walking down, hair wet, in a pretty short robe. His legs went on forever. They had black hair on them, and so did the narrow V of exposed chest. 

"This is definitely breathable," Greg said. "I feel like Donald Duck. How uh, how's Shiv?"

"Fine," Tom said. His leg jiggled. "hey look, why don't you put on some actual clothes instead of a perverted Russian's robe and we go find some fucking lunch. I'm starving."

*

They went to a nice place Tom remembered from the last time he'd been, he had duck salad (he had a sudden hankering for it) and Greg's eyes were round as saucers at everything. 

"Stop gawking," Tom said. "you look like a tourist."

"Well uh, technically, I am a tourist," Greg said. "I've never been to France before. Tomorrow, I think I'd like to eat a baguette."

Tom took a deep breath. "Okay, you know what? You're right. If I keep thinking about everything happening right now, I'm going to go insane. Let's just say we're two friends, right, two bros, on holiday... together in Nice... and I'm gonna show you the place and we'll take some photos and have some fun and eat some baguettes, right, and we go back to NYC and in a couple of months or however this thing will take to blow over we go back to our old lives and all will be well. Let's have fun." He nodded.

"Great," Greg said, nodding. "yeah, that sounds good to me."

"You finished? You want something else?"

"Maybe uh, we could go get ice cream?"

Tom nodded. "Let's go."

They found an Italian ice cream place and walked down the Promenade des Anglais, Mondale walking ahead on the leash, exploring. 

"Like, it literally tastes like cheesecake," Greg said.

"Yeah, it's cheesecake flavored ice cream," Tom said.

"Yeah but, I figured it would taste like ice cream," Greg said. 

Tom sighed. "I can see why I married you."

Greg shot him a slightly wounded look. Tom cleared his throat.

"There's a nice private beach a little further up. Let's see if we can find a cab."

Twenty minutes later they were on a private strip of pebbly beach. It was April, off season, and the beach wasn't very crowded at the best of times (membership entry only) but it was really bare now. Mondale was running around in the surf, barking at gulls. Greg had taken his shirt off, rubbed his long arms with sunscreen, sitting on a nice soft sunbed. 

"Want me to do your back?" Tom asked. Greg made a face, a stiff close lipped smile. "Seriously."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah Greg, come on, give me that." He moved to sit behind Greg, lotioned up his hands and spread his palms over his back. "Quite a lot of real estate to cover here Greg."

"Yeah."

"Should really just fill a carwash with sunscreen and have you walk through it."

"You don't have to-"

"No, it's cool," Tom said. He rubbed his fingers up Greg's neck, smoothed his hands over Greg's shoulders. Then he squeezed.

"Um, oh," Greg said, shuddering a little.

"Nice?"

"Yeah uh, yeah?"

"Lie down on your front."

Greg looked over his shoulder at him. "Why?"

"Come on, it'll be good."

"Uuuuhhh, okay," Greg said a little suspiciously but did, Tom shifted a little to give him room. Tom dug his thumbs in under Greg's shoulder blades, ran his hands down his back, ran the tips of his thumbs down his spine and made him arch like a cat. "fuck," Greg said. "how did you learn how to do this?"

"I always liked giving massages," Tom said. "if I were a normie I might have been a physical therapist or something."

"Shiv is lucky," Greg said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, if she's got this on tap. Per se."

Tom worked out a knot and Greg sighed hard. "She was pretty into it in the beginning."

"The beginning?"

"Yeah I mean, I like to do this after sex, you know, take care of my princess..."

"Sure."

"But she says it like, takes too long and uh, I don't know, not really into it anymore." 

"You can take as long as you like," Greg said, his voice growing jagged with drowsiness. 

"Tom? Tom Wambsgans?"

Tom looked up into the face of Alex, a pilot friend of his. Fuck!

"Uhh- hi! Wow, man what are the odds?"

"Guess you must be the black sheep Roy," he said to Greg, who sat up, crossed his legs. 

"I'm actually a Hirsch? My mom was a Roy?"

Tom got up, shook Alex' hand. "Hey uh, yeah, you, uh, in the middle of uh, my honeymoon, uh,"

"Honestly man, I couldn't believe it when I heard," Alex said, frowning.

"Ahh," Tom said, shrugging. "life uh, curve balls, uh..."

"Happenstances," Greg supplied helpfully.

"You look happy," Alex said. "like, I get it." He put a hand on his heart, nodded towards a very thin topless blonde lounging on a sunbed. "Monique over there? I finally found my soulmate. There's twenty five years between us and I obviously had to leave a long marriage and our three children behind, but when you find your one, you have to follow your heart, FUCK what society tells you."

"Yeahhh," Tom said. "how is Katie?"

"Angry," Alex said. "might just be the chemo talking though. But hey, man, great to see you, maybe we could get a drink sometime?"

"Yeah oh sure yeah," Tom said.

"We'll, I'll leave the two of you alone, now, see you around, right?"

Tom nodded and Alex walked back to Monique.

"That guy kind of seemed like a prick," Greg said.

"Yeah," Tom said. "he is."

Later that night Greg was playing Fortnite and Mondale was snoring next to him on the sofa. Tom messaged Shiv but she didn't answer. He opened Instagram, searched Greg up and frowned when he saw he'd posted a whole slideshow of Alison's photos. _Best day of my life. Finally found what I was looking for._ He looked over at Greg, huffing in frustration at being bested on screen by what was probably a nine year old in Indonesia. The corners of Tom's mouth pulled a little.


	3. Chapter 3

"Is there like a bookshop somewhere here? Do you know?" 

"A fucking bookshop?" Tom asked. "We're in god damn Monaco, and you wanna go score a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird?"

"No," Greg said. "like I was thinking maybe... like I don't know. Just like a thriller. For the beach." 

"Download one to your fucking phone."

"Paperbacks are nicer, because they also shield your eyes from the sun," Greg explained. "and if you drop one on your face, it doesn't hurt your nose." Greg got his phone out, started tapping. "There's like one bookshop in this whole... what is it, anyway? A country? A city?"

"It's both, Greg. It's a city state."

"They also sell records, and movies, and kitchen appliances," Greg frowned. "maybe I'll just buy one in Nice. There are shops there that aren't..." he looked around. "Versace."

"There are other shops here Greg!"

"We've passed like five Versaces."

Tom huffed. They'd left Mondale at the house and rented a car for the short drive into Monaco, and Greg was annoyingly unimpressed so far. "What's wrong with you? You've been gawking at everything since we got here and now we're in one of the most luxurious places on earth and you keep touching your phone."

"I guess like, I'm kind of, shall we say, uncomfortable with the vibe."

"The vibe?"

"Everybody here kind of look like douchebags."

"No? Greg? They look rich. We're rich too, in case you forgot."

An olive-skinned man with tight muscles, his expensive shirt half unbuttoned to show them off, and what looked like a very expensive and well oiled haircut walked past them. Greg made a disapproving face. "I don't know."

"Okay, they're rich and European, it's a little different. But it's good different! Look, stop whining about vibes and _books_ and just let me show you a good time, you _librarian._ "

"Is that like a parking lot for yachts?"

"Well you have to put them somewhere Greg!"

"Do you think Mondale is okay?"

"What? Of course, he has the run of the house and the garden and Rob's housekeeper is going to feed and water him. Buckle up, for fuck's sake, I know about an obscenely expensive wine bar."

At the bar Tom pointed out the artworks, the finishings, but Greg just whined he wanted to be in the sun so they went out on the patio, under a parasol. Greg was getting better at the fine art of being rich but there was a certain fundamental rube quality there, and he was going to have to work a lot harder if he wanted to lose it. But he was lucky enough to have a fine teacher. Tom wasn't a fake, he didn't hide his moderately modest St. Paul background, but unless you asked him where he grew up you'd never know he wasn't a thrillingly sophisticated NYC urbanite. Someone worthy of a Shiv Roy. That was the way to do it - authenticity and knowledge. An unbeatable combo. Shiv had fallen for him, hadn't she? Fallen hard. She'd been a pretty hard partier when they met, they'd slept with each other fairly shortly after, and Tom had pulled his moves - his massages, his world class morning after breakfast, what an ex had disparagingly referred to as "love bombing" after one too many therapy sessions - and something in those feline eyes had softened and Tom had felt like he was put on the planet to make the light shine in Shiv Roy's eyes. She was obviously a huge catch in every respect, but Tom also wanted the whole, the whole shebang. The whole Shiv-Wamb! He wanted to see her grow older. He wanted them to have children. He wanted to know for sure he'd found his place in the world. In his heart of hearts Tom wasn't sure she wanted any of those things like he did, but you had to think positive. Think positive, be cheerful and do your best and good things will come to you. And why would a thing as good as Shiv come easy?

There was some commotion and Greg turned. A cadre of paparazzi was photographing a scene happening in the street near where they were sitting. Greg winced from the blitz. 

"What's going on?"

"I think it's a Casiraghi," Tom said.

"A what? Is that a car?"

"It's a guy. One of the royal family over here. A descendant of Grace Kelly."

"Oh. Huh. Do you think we will be in the pictures?"

"No," Tom said. "maybe."

Greg nodded. Then he reached out to hold Tom's hand on the table. Tom looked down on it.

"What are you doing, Greg?"

"Like, maintaining the cover."

Tom nodded. He seriously doubted a few blurry pixels in the uncropped background of some pap pics that would exclusively get sold to some German or Spanish gossip rag would make anyone doubt the authenticity of their clowncar union, but he wanted Greg in a good mood and had decided to go a little easy on him. Just, humour him, like you'd do with someone with Alzheimer's who thought Reagan was still president (if only, right!). Get him a little drunk, get him loosened up, and they could have a good time hitting the casinos tonight with a minimum of whingeing. He imagined a bunch of missed calls and messages from Shiv, and how he'd tell her he'd just been out partying but reassure her how much he loved her and wished he was with her, and smiled. Greg smiled back. He really was a total cartoon. Like... a shitty Hanna Barbera cartoon about a sweet-natured giraffe. Or gormless fire escape ladder. With his guileless smile and his big expressive eyes. And his very soft hand, gently gripping Tom's.

"This is pretty nice, right?" Greg said.

What a stupid question. Tom bit down a sarcastic reply, used his free hand to down some more of the very nice and very expensive red. "Yeah, Greg. It's nice."

Greg beamed at him. Yeah. Casinos tonight.

*

One drink became two became ten and Greg kept blinking hard by the time they rolled up to the Monte Carlo casino. 

"It looks like a fancy hotel," Greg said in a halfway sleepy voice.

"It's the oldest and most famous casino in Monaco. This, my friend, is a piece of rich asshole history. Let's breathe it in." He took a dramatic intake of breath.

"It's pretty nice."

"Sure, Greg. Hey, this should excite you, it was a location in Casino Royale, the James Bond movie?"

"Really? With uhhh.... Hannibal?"

Tom had no idea what he was talking about. "Sure."

"I like your suit," Greg said. His gaze was a little unfocussed. 

"Yeah? I got uh, a pretty good deal on it, it's off the rack, but designer! Hey, I'll take you outlet shopping, when we're back in NYC."

"Yeah you look... super handsome. Sharp."

Tom brayed a laugh. "Well, thanks, hubby. You trying to get lucky tonight?"

"Uuh"

"Because you know I'm a sure thing. Save your luck for the tables."

They lost 24 000 dollars. But it was fun.

Greg was visibly exhausted and wild-eyed when they made it back to the house. Mondale greeted them happily but tiredly for a few minutes before jumping back on a sofa and sighing in a slightly world-weary way, quietly disapproving of people who couldn't just go to bed at a sensible hour. 

"Guess it's time to turn in," Tom said, yawned dramatically, moving his jaw around. "see you in the morning."

"Like, could we, just for a moment though?"

"What."

Greg smiled gently and tiredly and took his hand. 

"Okay. Forward," Tom said but let him lead him into the garden, and they sat down on a bench, Greg splaying long legs out. Tom thought he'd maybe been wrong about him being all out of proportion. His proportions were really good. Just. Long. Larger than life. 

"It's so nice and warm, even though it's like, nearly time to get up."

"Yeah. I love the riviera."

"This is like, I think, the nicest vacation I've ever been on." He used a hand to scratch at his neck. "My dad did once take me to Tangiers, which was really cool, but mostly because I made friend with this other kid at the riyad, I didn't see much of dad. I think he was busy scoring drugs and uh, soliciting, locals."

"Yeah. Okay." He patted Greg's knee. "Well, hubby, think I'm going to turn in."

"So uh, what like, growing up, was it good for you?"

"Good for me?" Tom snorted. He shrugged. "I don't know. Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I love my parents. We're close. And ah, like, I played the old, soccerball, was pretty good at that... my uh, mom is a really good lawyer. My dad stayed with me um, actually, growing up? Untraditional, haha. Which I think is why I like strong women like Shiv."

Tom looked down at his feet. "Shiv. Sure."

"Not that I want to fuck my mom."

"Of course."

"I just respect the dynamic."

"No, no, I get it."

"So yeah, she worked hard, she instilled a lot of work ethic in me, sent me to an Ivy league, I was in a frat, that was pretty fun, yeah, came to the city, did a few years in finance, met Shiv... the rest you know."

"Okay but like what were you like as a kid?"

Tom made a face. "What I was like? Um. Loved. Happy." He nodded. "I was a happy kid. I was a dinosaur kid. Loved dinosaurs."

"Me too!" Greg said. "I had like the posters, the figurines..."

"Oh yeah, all over. I had pajamas with them too."

"Which uh, which was your favourite?"

"God, I can't remember. Probably the T-Rex."

"I liked the diplodocus, because it was very long and gentle? Kind of misunderstood?"

The conversation grew drowsier but ebbed and flowed, and eventually the sun rose, made the city glow under their feet, accompanied by enthusiastic birdsong. They staggered back inside but didn't make it upstairs - Tom passed out in a chair and Greg on the sofa. 

When Tom woke up a couple of hours later, feeling like hammered shit, he looked at Greg, fully unconscious on the sofa with his arms wrapped around himself, Mondale sleeping next to him with his head on one of Greg's shins. He smiled a little, then had a thought, patted his shirt, fished out his phone. A message from Alex, a message from his dad, a photo message from Roman (he deleted it without looking at it. Fool me thrice). Nothing from Shiv. He checked what time it was in New York. Middle of the night. Probably not a good idea to call yet. He opened the message app and requested Rob's housekeeper stop by with fresh baguettes. He was going to make one of his famous breakfasts. He yawned big, closed his eyes. He'd do it when he woke back up.


	4. Chapter 4

Tom's planned world famous breakfast turned more into a world famous late lunch, as Greg wouldn't be stirred until three in the afternoon. Rob's housekeeper had stopped by with a delivery of crusty baguettes, fresh eggs, thin-sliced ham, plump red tomatoes, intensely flavored purple grapes and several different cheeses. Tom set it all up, humming to himself, while Mondale walked around his feet begging for morsels. Shiv hated him doing it and tried discouraging him by putting him in the crate when he started, but Tom didn't really care, gave him a ham slice and called him a "hungry man" in a Scooby Doo voice.

"The beast awakens!" Tom exclaimed as Greg stirred on the sofa. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay. Tired."

"Hung over?"

There was a pause. "Not really."

"See? It's because we didn't mix our drinks. Just listen to your uncle Tom and you'll be fine, kid."

"Uncle Tom?"

Greg was ravenous by the time he made it to the table, scarfed down an omelette, half a baguette, tried several different cheeses (one of them he kept coming back to and Tom made a note of it), washed it all down with coffee and orange juice. They'd pretty much demolished the spread and were just talking about the casino and Monaco when Tom's iPad rang with the FaceTime notification sound.

"Oh! Wonder who that might be!" Tom grinned. He was excited to see Shiv again, he'd planned on calling her himself anyway after lunch. He walked over, looked at it. "Oh."

"What?"

"It's um. It's my mom." He made a grimace. "I've been ignoring her and dad, I feel like shit. I haven't talked to them, since... I meant to, but I just wasn't sure what to say. About the whole marriage thing. Like, let them in on it? Logan would kill me. Try to lie to them?" He shuddered. "What do you think I should do?"

"Uhh um... well, I don't know, you're going to have to talk to them eventually, maybe just say you're fine and you'll tell them more later? Like just wrap it up quick?"

Tom nodded. "Good idea. Okay. Here goes." He sat down on the sofa, accepted the call. "Hi mommy!"

_"Tommy, do you know how many times we've tried to reach you? What are you doing?"_

"Look, I'm going to tell you all about it later, but right now-"

_"Is Greg there? Well obviously he is since you're looking at someone. Get him over."_

"Um," Tom said. Greg walked over a little warily, then sat down next to Tom. 

"Uh, hello, mrs Wambsgans!"

_"Very nice to meet you, Greg. Hopefully in real life soon. Thank you for posting all those wonderful photos on Instagram."_

"You're welcome!!"

_"And we want to know you are welcome in the family."_

"Thanks!!!"

Tom wanted to tell him to act fucking normal, but he noticed he was folding his hands together so hard his knuckles went white. He'd better just take over and spare him talking.

"I'm really sorry about all this, mommy," Tom said. "I know you must be in shock. like I said, I'll explain everything later."

_"Oh come on, baby. Shock? A mother knows. You've always had these crushes. Matthew... And with how much you've been talking about this Greg... Getting married so suddenly is a little drastic in my opinion but you've never done anything by half, have you. How is Shiv taking it?"_

"Aaah? Uh? Shiv is... fine, I mean, angry, of course, but ahhh we still talk... friendly..."

_"Well, Shiv is very modern."_

"Yes ah, yes she is, that's my... that's Shiv."

Tom eventually managed to hang up after promising they'd land in Minnesota before continuing on to NYC. Greg's hand came up to scratch at his neck again. "You've been uh, you've been talking about me to your mom?"

"I- jesus, no. No. I mean, maybe. Your name has briefly come up. Like once. Maybe half your name. Like. Gr. Or Eg."

"What kind of crushes was she talking about? Who's Matthew?"

"Jesus christ, how should I know what she's talking about? Matty and me were friends in high school, literally in the nineties, I barely _remember_ him." He shrugged. "Your parents get older, they get more doddery, what can you do." He swiped down to the other apps on the pad, opened Instagram, searched up Greg. He had been posting pictures - from the private beach, from the Promenade des Anglais, from the Monaco shore. A few of Mondale, which Tom was pleased to see were the by far most liked, occasionally tipping quadruple digits. A good few of him. 

"It's, you know, for the cover story," Greg said. "plausibility wise?"

Not that Tom particularly cared about social media, he'd just got an account so he could see what Shiv was posting, but it was a little galling to realize he'd appeared on her account maybe three times after nearly two years together whereas he was pretty much second billed over on instagram dot com slash cousin fucking Greg. He clicked on a pretty good one of himself, looking smooth in a linen shirt and raising a glass of white on their first day there, he remembered Greg taking it while they were having lunch. _How did I get so lucky?_ the caption wondered. He remembered Shiv's latest caption describing him as a "knucklehead". Which was still really good, of course, it was playful, it was banter, it was part of who they were, she wasn't some corny old romantic and he loved that. Loved it.

"Do you want me to stop posting?" Greg asked. "I should have asked before I did. Sorry."

"No, it's fine, it's cool. You have a good eye. You make me look good."

"Like it's hard," Greg said, and he was smiling his dimpled, nervous smile. 

Tom winced a little. "Why did you agree to this?"

"I already told you."

"Okay, okay, I'll show my hand. I have received a severance of seven million, and when this all blows over me and Shiv will 'reconnect' and I'll be fast-tracked to a senior executive position at ATN."

Greg frowned. "ATN? You wanna work at ATN?"

"What did you get?"

"I'm still formally employed and still receive my salary."

"That's it??"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you ask for more?"

Greg shrugged. "Seemed like plenty? The most important thing is that we don't get in trouble, right?"

"I guess."

"And ah... well, I like you, Tom. I like spending time with you."

Tom looked at him, a little moved. Greg was a good guy at the end of the day. He used to have so many friends, good guys, real stand up guys, but his world had increasingly narrowed since he became, in all but name, a Roy. And as much as he tried to fit in with the people in this new world, it wasn't the same. Except with Greg. It kind of was with Greg. "Well, I like you too. You didn't have to marry me to hang out, you know."

"Well, no, we see each other all the time."

"No but I mean... when things are back to normal, like, we should hang out more, like friends, not just work."

"Sure, I'd like that." Greg groaned a little. "I'm sleepy again. I'm going out in the garden."

Tom watched him walk out and lie down on a sunbed, long limbs splaying. He looked back down on his pad, tapped to like the pictures Greg had posted. Plausibility. He opened the Instagram picture of him in the brasserie and typed out a reply. _I'm the lucky one._

* * *

After another hour he finally managed to get a hold of Shiv, lying on his back on the sofa. "Oh god Shiv! Aww! Aw I missed you!"

_"Settle down, Tom, it's been like a day or two we didn't speak."_

"But it's so hard being away from youuu!"

_"Okay, Tom, so, you wanna hear the latest?"_

"Yes."

_"Legal proceedings formally start next week."_

"Oh no!"

Shiv sighed. _"Guess you haven't read the news. You're slacking, Wambsgans. We release a press statement today."_

"I'm sorry, it's been kinda... So did you find, uh, some dirt on uh, something to use against... the victim?"

_"Maybe, nothing huge, but the vultures in legal should be able to do something with it. We've got a young, white female lawyer on the team, good for optics when we start hammering her."_

"I guess," Tom said, frowning. Was it tretcherous to be relieved he wasn't a part of this? He felt his face crumple as Shiv filled him in on more depressing details. 

_"And I have some good news,"_ Shiv said.

"Oh?"

_"Your name hasn't been mentioned once, so far. Legal did a good job sealing back in the day, we don't think anybody knows the significance of the shredded documents, and best of all - you know how there was some delay finalizing your contract? Well, that works out in our favour as there's some uncertainty as to from when you're actually legally responsible, but the later the better, and since you only held the position for about three months before running off with my cousin in a sordid scandal at least, so far, you're completely out of the picture."_

"That's good." Tom didn't feel good. "Um, Shiv, you wanna say hi to Mondale? I can get him!"

_"No, that's okay. How's Greg, are you guys driving each other insane living together?"_

Tom frowned. "No. We're having fun."

_"But you know, he's so-"_

"What?"

Shiv impersonated Greg's voice. _"What does this door do? Or this, wooden entrance, per se? Ah, another room!"_

"The wifi here is really bad Shiv, you're breaking up," Tom said and finished the call. He made a face. 

"Hey," Greg said, walking inside, wielding a Tom Clancy. "I finished this. I found it in like, the bathroom. One of them."

"Good?"

"Not really." Greg walked over, sat on the edge of the sofa, next to Tom. Mondale ran in after them and swept the floor with his tail as Greg rubbed his head. "Something wrong?"

"Wrong?"

"You just look kinda... upset?"

Tom sighed deep. "Things are kicking off back in NYC. My, and by that extension your, name has not been mentioned so far though. So that's good."

Mondale walked over, nosed at Tom's face and he laughed a little, petted him. "Attention sponge." He looked up at Greg, who was looking at him with a fond expression, smiling mildly. He gently placed a hand under Tom's throat, where his top buttons were unbuttoned. Tom glanced down at Greg's hand, then up at his face.

"Feel how warm I am," Greg said. "I've been out in the sun all day."

"Yeah," Tom said. "yeah." He placed one of his hands over Greg's. "We should go swimming."


	5. Chapter 5

It was getting dark. The rental car made its way out of the city. Mondale was a little restless in the backseat, occasionally staring out the window, occasionally sticking his head between them in front for a head rub, occasionally curling up with a very weary and put upon sigh. Tom had started streaming R.E.M.'s Automatic for the People and he was singing along. 

"Ahh," he said as another song ended. "isn't it good? It came out my freshman year of high school, I was obsessed with it, went to see them like five times in concert."

"Oh uh, when was that?"

"1992."

"Oh that's funny, I was born in 1992."

"Hah," Tom said, frowning a little. "that is. Funny."

"Yeah, I guess I was more into, Hush Little Baby, at the time, ha ha."

"Haaa."

"Baa Baa Black Sheep, you know, the classics."

"Nightswimming, deserves a quiet night," Tom started singing, ignoring him. "I'm not sure all these people understand..."

"It's good though," Greg said. "it's uh, a pretty song!"

"Yeah, not really my usual, I'm more of an Eagles man? I like a bit of Billy Joel? Air Supply?"

"Uh"

"But this album just hit me at the right time, I guess."

They were in the countryside outside the city, and Tom pulled over into a tractor trail. 

"What's happening?" Greg asked. "Uh, pee break?"

"Get out, bring your stuff." He switched over to his Scooby Doo voice. "Come on Mondale! Come on out boy!!"

Greg followed, striding to catch up. "Where ah are we going? Tom?"

"I first came here when I was fourteen," Tom said, walking quickly, Mondale running ahead. "my mom loves France, and she could finally justify taking enough time off for a real vacation for us. We came back every summer a good few years after that. I made friends with some other vacation kids and we'd go out here." He suddenly stopped in his tracks. "God, I hope it's not full of teenagers. God, that would be _horrible_. What day is it?"

"Uhh, I believe, it is Wednesday?"

"Okay, school night, thank fuck. Let's hope it's deserted. Uh, Mondale, Mondale, come here, boy!"

Mondale came back a little reluctantly, let Tom leash him. 

"Tom, do you not get a little bit of a horror movie vibe? Kind of, American tourists in the European countryside, and uh, it's um, pretty dark? And nobody knows where we are? If like... a French murderer is on the prowl?"

"We've got Mondale to protect us. Don't we Mondale! Who's my protecty boy! Yes you are! It's you!"

They walked a little further and then got to a quiet lake. The starry sky lit up the night and reflected in the water. There wasn't a soul there, neither teenagers nor murderers. Tom unleashed Mondale again, who charged to leap fearlessly into the water, was under for a second before he reemerged to swim triumphantly. Tom then took off his shirt. He raised an eyebrow. Greg stared back, then took off his shirt too. 

"Is this uh. Is this like. A. Skinny? Dipping? Situation?" Greg asked.

"It could be," Tom said, grinning, unzipped. 

"Uh wow. Okay. Yeah. That's fine. Showing off the old. Body. Uh. Fine with that."

Tom quickly stripped and then ran into the water with a war cry. "Haa! Aaaah! It's cold ahh!!"

"Is it!"

"Yeah Greg fuck me right in the fucking eye socket it's cold jesus christ"

"Oh, maybe I-"

"But you get used to it! Quick shock, inures you, I barely feel it now! Hello Mondale, haha, hey boy." The dog expertly swam around him.

Greg awkwardly stripped, folded his clothes, found a rock and put it on top of them for some reason, cupped himself and took a slow step in. "Ah that's- that's freezing?"

"Just come in."

"I don't know if-"

"Just come in! Quick! You'll get used to it! Five seconds of pain, and then the gain! Join- us! Join- us! Hey, Mondale. Arf, arf!"

Mondale barked. 

"Okay, okay." Greg walked in the water quickly, to his shoulders, over to Greg, with a terrified expression on his face. "Ahh, ah. Oh, mannn."

"Yeah? Feel better? Starting to feel inured?"

"Ahh, I guess? Maybe? Or maybe it's just numbness? Hypothermia?"

Tom grabbed his arm underwater. "Feel this?"

"Yeah?"

"Well that's a good sign."

Greg bit his lip. He looked almost ethereal in the moonlight. He was a pretty pale guy at the best of times but with only the moon and the stars lighting his features he looked like he was made of porcelain. Tom realized he'd forgotten to let go of Greg's arm, so he let his hand slide down it and he did. 

But then Greg reached out underwater to place both hands on Tom's waist. Tom froze in place a little, looked up at Greg. Weird sensation, really, having to look up at someone, he was used to being the tallest guy in the room, guess Greg wouldn't even know what it was like, maybe that was why he always seemed to tried to make himself small and accomodating, but he was _looming_ now, hands on him and sliding to meet on the small of his back, lip bitten, eyes unreadable. And well. Dick out. Inches away. That was. A fact. Underwater dick. Buoyant.

Mondale came swimming over with a big stick in his mouth. Tom pulled away, grabbed the stick from him and threw it. Mondale swam after.

"Uh, Tom..."

"I'm gonna do a lap," Tom said. "yeah, big old, lap."

"Tom, I'm sorry, I-"

"You're on stick duty Greg!" He laughed, swam away. He could hear Greg mutter "fuck" in the background.

After a few laps, the cold, the dark, and the fact his heart was beating so hard it was threatening to beat its way out of his ribcage and leap over the border to Italy, made Tom kind of want to call it a night. Greg had already retreated, had dried himself off, pulled his clothes back on and was throwing sticks in the water for Mondale. 

Tom walked out of the water and Greg threw him a towel. He sat down next to Greg, located his boxers, pulled them on. 

"I love Shiv," Tom said in a high voice. 

"I know. Let's just like, forget-"

"I just. I'm with her."

"Yeah, sure."

"I made a commitment. I'm going to marry her."

"Yeah, you married me, though." Tom glared at him. "Sorry."

Tom cleared his throat. "Matty uh... my friend from school... well, he wasn't really... he was in the year above. I got into soccer because he was into it. Good looking. Tall. Curly hair. He liked R.E.M., it was his favourite band. I got Automatic For The People when it came out and listened to it obsessively, like homework, and I was so hyped... to talk to him about it, but he told me they were sellouts who made music for normies now. Ha. Just... played the hell out of 'Everybody hurts' after that."

There was a pause. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm just saying! If Shiv wasn't in the equation, then, uh, maybe. Probably." He looked at him. "Yeah." He nodded. "Yeah. Uh. Okay, now we pretend none of this ever happened."

"Okay Tom," Greg said. 

Greg chose the music on the ride home, and they quietly listened to Kendrick Lamar, Mondale panting in the back, a pervasive smell of wet dog filling the car.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day Greg had taken off before Tom had even got up and left a note about "sightseeing and such". He didn't really feel like doing anything, so he picked up the Clancy novel Greg had found and started reading, lying on one of the sunchairs, Mondale gnawing on his chewing toy. The previous night had been, it had just been awkward. Talking about this stuff was awkward. He wasn't sure why he'd shared those memories of Matty, wasn't sure why he'd said all those things about if Shiv hadn't been in the picture. He was kicking himself going over it. He should have pulled away immediately and they would both have been able to play it cool and pretend like it was nothing. Because it _was_ nothing. 

The first time Tom had fallen in love with a woman it had been the relief of his _life_ (thank you, Heather Miller, you athletic spitfire). It was a guarantee life would be okay. He could keep voting Republican. He could listen to The Eagles. He could keep buying off-the-rack suits. So, fine, every once in a while he maybe had a look, a second glance, on a couple of out of town occasions a no strings hookup (before he met Shiv, of course! All very firmly in the past), but it was never going to get, like, _deep_. His life was still on course and what he was going to do was marry the world's most beautiful woman, have kids (three? He liked three. But he could do four or five, if Shiv was up for it), be a credit to his mom and dad, all while making fucking truckloads of money. 

The first time he'd seen Greg, all tall and involuntarily imposing at Logan's birthday bash, he'd thought, oh _no_. Then he'd told himself, just stay the hell away from this guy. That had lasted maybe two hours, and when Greg had come over for a chat during the softball game he'd fallen straight into his stupid old patterns when he was with a guy he found attractive, joking too much, trying too hard, making demands of friendship. It had kind of been fine when he was in college because everybody were young and stupid and kind of acted like that all the time. Greg just looked at him like he was insane. 

Then of course he'd come into work and Tom had made him his assistant and then he'd called him in after making a monumentally stupid decision and made him do something strictly speaking quite illegal and now... now they were married. 

He'd never even had a real relationship with a guy and now he'd married one.

And the worst part was, he was kind of fine with it, wasn't really as bothered about what his friends and family would think as he thought he'd be (this might also have something to do with not being 23 anymore), and of course it was all _fake_ , Shiv still loved him, Shiv was still his fiancee, off the record, he'd veered a little off piste but he was still going to have all the things he'd been working so hard for the last few years, and honestly he was pretty stoked about getting to spend all this time with Greg. He hadn't even asked him if he wanted to go to Nice, when Rob had made the offer of the summer house he'd just jumped on it and booked two tickets, thrilled at the idea of a bro honeymoon. A broneymoon. He hadn't, in any scenario, counted on his vague weird fluttery feelings being in any way _reciprocated_.

And he had no idea what to do with that knowledge.

He couldn't focus on the book so he grabbed his iPad and FaceTimed Shiv. It called for a while and when she picked up she had a slightly odd expression. He loved her smiles, especially when she was genuinely, helplessly amused. He used to be great at making her laugh. This one was kind of her, her professional smile.

_"Hi Tom."_

"Hi Shiv! Honey badger. It's good to see you."

_"Tom, I'm in Washington. I'm pretty busy. We really don't have to talk every day."_

"I know," he whined. "but I miss you! I miss your smile. And your pussy."

Shiv laughed and Tom smiled. 

"Does she miss me? Can you ask her for me?"

_"Tom. God. Look. We're both adults, right?"_

"Yes," he grinned. "let's have an _adult_ FaceTime." 

_"I'm just saying, if you met someone, and something happened, well, I would be an adult about it."_

Tom frowned. "What do you mean?"

_"Just... what I say. There are a lot of beautiful women in Nice. You're a handsome guy, Wambsgans. If you want to have some fun, it's cool."_

"Uh huh. Uh. Thanks? But um, I want to have fun with you. Uh. Hey, where are you right now? Hotel? Why don't I take this iPad up to the bedroom, because, you know, Mondale is here-" he tilted the iPad to show her.

 _"Tom, really, I don't have the time. Like, just think about what I said._ Shiv glanced away, made an expression with her eyes. What was that?

"Is someone there with you?"

_"Uh, yeah, Nate just came in, he, he's my new co-strategist. So I really have to wrap this up. Bye."_

"What time is it over there?" Tom asked, but Shiv had already disconnected. He frowned, debated looking up the time in WA. Decided he didn't want to know. He picked the book back up and tried to focus.

*

The next morning he walked downstairs and found Greg asleep on the sofa, in his clothes. He stank. Tom felt kind of irrationally annoyed.

"HEY!" he said and Greg twitched and stirred, opened a bleary eye. 

"Uh"

"I suggest that if you're going to whore it up all night you go to sleep in your _bed_ , which have sheets that can be _washed_ , and not on my friend's expensive fabric sofa. You reek."

"In a second," Greg said in a sand paper rough voice. 

"No, now, come on." Tom went over and pulled him up, easier said than done, it was like trying to upright a fallen 4G mast, but he finally managed to get him up and hooked one of Greg's arms around his shoulders and he had his arm around Greg's back, supporting him, and they'd almost made it over to the stairs, when Greg leaned in, leaned in close. "No," Tom said weakly and then Greg threw up all over his linen shirt.

*

Tom (showered, changed, had listened to a guided meditation video) was on his way back to the house, Mondale trotting in front of him on the leash. He came bearing gifts. Time for a reconciliation. He was the bigger man, in almost every respect, and he would take the high road. So he'd bought some roast chicken and potatoes, a very expensive red wine, and they were just going to have a nice meal and a nice time and it would be fine. He'd even watch Greg play video games and pretend to be interested if that was what he had to do. 

"Greeeeeg?" he said, walking into the house. "Greg, are you up?"

He started unpacking his bags on the kitchen table, Mondale circling like a shark, drooling from the roast chicken smell. He heard a familiar thump down the stars, walked over to see. Greg looked well. He'd been a crusty, smelly mess when Tom had maneuvered him into his bed earlier in the day. He had dark circles under his eyes, but other than that he looked fresh and put together. He smelled nice. Tom grabbed the wine bottle from the bag, held it out like an offering.

"We smoke peace pipe."

Greg frowned at him. "I think that may be kind of racist? And I'm actually on my way out."

"What? No, don't leave, like, I have wine and chicken and- Mondale! Down!" The dog sank down from where he'd been standing with both forepaws on the kitchen table and looked guilty, hunching over.

"Yeah uh, just put it in the fridge, maybe I'll eat it when I come back, I just had some of that blue cheese last night and I think maybe that was a bad idea."

"Okay," Tom said. Higher road. "I'll come with you. Boys night out on the town. You and me."

Greg held a hand out in a "stop" gesture. "Tom, like, no offense, but I just... I kind of just can't be around you right now?"

"What?" Tom said, heard his own voice going high. "Why? What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything." Greg looked away, avoiding his gaze. "It just kind of hurts, I guess? But uh, I'll get over it, I'll be fine, I just, I just need some time on my own. See you later."

Greg left and Tom stared open-mouthed after him.

The food was good and the wine was good and he even conscientiously plated up the left-overs, wrapped them in plastic and put them in the fridge. He tried starting a new show. He went for another walk with Mondale. He watched a movie. When it was nearing ten, he opened instagram. Greg had posted a photo just a few minutes prior. He recognized it instantly, it was a little piece of street art, and he knew exactly where Greg was going. He sat there in the chair considering for a few moments, then he got up with a sudden movement, strode over to the hallway and put on his shoes. Mondale came after him with a hopeful look.

"Sorry, boy. I have to do this on my own."


	7. Chapter 7

It was dark outside and Tom was walking. He'd asked the cab driver to let him off about a block away from where he was actually going. Habit. There was a reason not even ratfucker Sam had been able to uncover any of his little adventures. He got to a familiar street and saw the street art Greg had posted on Instagram, walked a little further and down some stairs. There was the muted sound of throbbing music coming from the inside. He nodded at the doorman, who nodded back, he paid a cover charge, and walked inside the club. It had a different name now, he hadn't been there for more than a decade, but the clientele seemed to be about the same. He was older, though, and he felt it. He looked around, made his way through the dancing, male bodies, and stared. Greg was at the bar, leaning in to kiss some curly haired guy, curled over like one of those freakish borzoi dogs, the only big dog breed Tom knew about that had the sense to be ashamed of their stature. A weird rage bubbled up in Tom, like someone had dropped a sugar cube in soda, and he marched over and grabbed Greg's shoulder, pulling him away from the rando.

"Tom?" Greg gawked at him.

"See this?" Tom told the stranger, holding up his hand, the one with the ring. He held up Greg's hand too. "Il est uh mon _husband,_ okay?"

"Okay," the guy said. He looked supremely unperturbed by that information.

"Yeah so maybe... scram!"

"Scram?" he asked, confused, then smiled. "You know, I like the couples."

"What? Fuck off!" 

The guy shrugged, slinked off and away. 

Greg looked at him, moved his hand up to his neck. "Um, what are you doing here? What was all that about?"

"Come- come the fuck on." He grabbed Greg's arm and dragged him along. He had braced himself for resistance, for a fight, but Greg followed willingly. Tom stopped before they reached the exit. He didn't really want to do what he was about to do outside. The music was loud and the song was completely unfamiliar to him, but the lyrics came through clearly. _I don't talk a lot, talk a lot, so you should listen up, I mean it when I say..._

"Tom?" Greg asked.

 _I'm not afraid, it's okay_ the song assured and Tom took Greg's face in both hands and pulled him downwards, he folded down and they kissed, a little out of sync at first but then they hit a rhythm and Greg was holding him close, one arm tight around his shoulders and another around his waist, and the angle was weird but it felt good and Greg's mouth was warm and wet and yielding. When Tom pulled away he breathed hard and Greg had stars in his eyes. 

"Do uh. Do you want. God. Come home with me, okay?"

Greg nodded.

After an awkward, quiet cab ride home and trying to brush off Mondale's enthusiastic welcome as quickly as possible Tom had closed his bedroom door behind them and he swallowed. Maybe this had all been a terrible idea. There was no coming back from this. Then Greg's hands met over his stomach and his chin came down to rest on Tom's shoulder. It was a quiet, nervous moment. Tom finally broke the tension with a cough. 

"Maybe I should have called, or something," Tom said. "I wasn't really thinking."

"It was cool," Greg said, low and near his ear. "were you jealous?"

"Yes," Tom said. Why lie? He looked back over his shoulder and Greg kissed him again, a little crooked because of the angle but still sweet, and then again, and one big hand skated up from Tom's stomach to grab at his chest and the other hooked a thumb in his pants. 

"Oh fuck," Tom said, then turned around and walked Greg backwards until they both fell on the bed. They kissed again, slower and deeper, until Greg's hands came up to slide Tom's suit jacket over his shoulders, and he pulled away and dragged it off, throwing it on the floor. He grabbed the bottom of Greg's shirt and pulled it up over his head, his long arms raising up to help. Greg leaned himself backwards on his hands and smiled gently as Tom unbuttoned his jeans, raised his hips to let him pull them off, down and down over long legs. Tom ran his hand over where Greg's erection was tenting his underwear and Greg leaned forward a little, took Tom's face in his hands for another long kiss, let his hands slide down to unbutton his shirt. Tom pulled away to shrug off his shirt, pulled off his undershirt, and Greg looked up at him with that same starry look, like he was some kind of Adonis. Tom discarded the rest of his clothes and fell down on the bed with Greg, drowning in sheets and kisses and the feeling of pale, flushed skin. 

Neither had lasted long, hands wrapped around each others dicks, mouths staying close, and after Tom had wiped off the worst of the mess with some paper tissues Greg had picked up his discarded jeans and fished a joint out of his pocket. 

"Where did you get that?" Tom asked, frowning. 

"Yesterday, met some guys," Greg said.

"Yeah maybe you shouldn't be buying drugs on the fucking street in a foreign country?"

Greg shrugged. "They were cool." He lit up, the flame illuminated his face. 

Tom sat up next to him, shoulder to shoulder. 

"You want a hit? It's like, it's good stuff."

"Humm," Tom said, then reached out and took the joint. He hadn't smoked with any real frequency for years, had always been too uptight for it. Coke was more the drug of choice in his circle but he didn't really like that either, he was wired enough to begin with. One time he'd done it and redecorated his entire apartment. Badly. He took a light drag, exhaled. Greg laughed. 

"You have to like, here," he took the joint back, took a deep drag, held it, let the smoke out slowly. "slow."

"Yeah okay GREG I have been to college you know."

"I haven't," Greg said. "my grandpa did offer to pay for me to go, but I'm not of a scholarly nature, per se."

"You're not stupid," Tom said and Greg smiled a little. "are- are you close? You and your grandfather?"

"Uh, like, I... kind of? He pretty much cut my mom off because he hated my dad so much, but then he, cut her back in when I was born. He's... been a presence. But he's pretty adamant about not supporting us." Greg sighed. "Apart from the college thing. Which I turned down."

"He never helped you out?" Tom said, confused. "And you still have a good relationship?"

Greg considered the question. "I guess it was kind of weird having a rich granddad and not have money yourself, but when you're a kid that doesn't seem like unfair or anything. He was still good at remembering birthdays and stuff and I stayed with him for like a month? Or two maybe? When my mom and dad broke up. It was chill. He uh... he's not like a super warm dude but he's fair. Most of the time."

"Maybe not when it comes to Logan."

"Nah, he really hates him."

Tom silently took the joint off Greg, tried to do like he'd demonstrated. It went fine. He didn't even cough. "Okay but like- _is_ it ideological, or is it just jealousy? Because Ewan has money, but Logan has MONEY."

Greg shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it. But honestly I don't think they'd like each other even if they had the exact same amount of money. They're too different in some ways and too similar in others."

"Huh."

"Also, they're each others link to the past, and I don't think either of them appreciates that."

"Yeah, they grew up dirt poor in Canada, right?"

"Mmm."

"Come on Greg, tell me, Shiv always got so shifty when I started trying to dig in her family history. I'm curious. What makes a man like Logan Roy?"

Greg took the joint back, shrugged. "I mean, I assume you know the basics. Great grandma Helen became a widow during World War Two in Dundee, Scotland, and couldn't afford to feed three children. My great grand uncle Noah, her brother, offered to take the two boys in so they could help him out with the print shop and the ranch. He and his wife didn't have kids of their own, guess they couldn't. So he came back to Dundee and took grandpa and uncle Logan to Quebec. And apparently he was kind of a psychotic shit."

"Yeah?" Tom asked, interested. "Shiv has kind of made some jokes about evil uncle Noah before, but..."

"No, he was a piece of work," Greg said. "me and grandpa got a little closer when I lived with him after mom and dad broke up and he'd tell me some of the shit he used to do. Beatings with switches and canes, they'd get locked up in the basement without food if they were sassy or whatever, grandpa still can't use his little finger from when he got hurt working the ranch and uncle Noah didn't want to pay for him to see a doctor."

"Jesus Christ." Tom frowned. 

"So when he died uncle Logan got the print shop and the billboards and grandpa got the land and the ranch. At the time it probably seemed like grandpa got the better deal, but uh, we all know how that turned out. Like, he's still pretty fucking rich, but, like you said, uncle Logan has uh, money."

"Hey wait, what about Rose, what about the sister? Shiv never told me why that's such a sore spot, she just warned me to never, ever bring her up around Logan."

Greg shrugged. "Shiv maybe doesn't know. I don't. They refuse to talk about it. I just got the same message you did. Don't ask. My kind of, my theory is that she's kind of, a symbol of Logan's childhood, in a way. She was a little older than them. Maybe she provided like the few happy memories of Scotland he had and that's why he never got over her dying or whatever."

"She's his Rosebud," Tom said.

Greg frowned, coughed. "What the fuck? That's kind of inappropriate, isn't it?"

"What? Rosebud, it's a... it's from the Orson Welles movie, Citizen Kane, it's Kane's dying word."

"Yeah uh I got it, but like, that's the pet name for Kane's girlfriend's clitoris, isn't it?"

"No? What the fuck? It's the name of his sled!"

"I think you're wrong."

"Greg- it's a movie from like the 1940s, they weren't talking about _vaginas!_ It's a sled!"

"No, I'm like, 99% sure it's that. But it's like uh, it's like..."

"It's bullshit!" Tom laughed. "Did Ingrid Bergman milk Humphrey Bogart's prostate in Casablanca? Did Jimmy Stewart get his dick out in It's A Wonderful Life? It's. A. Sled."

Greg leaned over and put the joint to Tom's lips, which was a pretty sweet way of telling him to shut up. He inhaled, held, exhaled. "Fuck," Tom said. "you're beautiful. Uuuh. You're so fucking gorgeous."

"I think I'm ready to go again, if you are?"

"What? You mean uh? Really? But- I mean, yeah... uh... yeah, uh... hey, lean back."

Greg grinned and Tom couldn't resist, pressed a quick kiss to each dimple before sliding down between Greg's long legs and grasping his already half-hard dick, stroking it to full. He looked up and Greg took a long pull of his joint, then gently grasped the back of Tom's head with a large hand, and exhaled with a moan when Tom guided the head of his dick into his mouth.


	8. Chapter 8

Tom woke up with a long, thin arm slung over his middle and a weird wet sensation near his shoulder. He looked over at Greg lying open mouthed asleep next to him and Tom realized he was drooling. Tom felt bad. Not because his shoulder was soggy with Hirsch DNA, which could be incriminating enough in itself, but because he thought it was cute. When you think someone drooling on you is cute and not gross, you're in trouble. He blinked awake, and gently touched Greg's face with the tips of his fingers. His lashes were very long and black. He imagined Greg waking up, softly, slowly, coming in closer. He was in the mood for a little morning, hanky panky. But Greg didn't stir.

"Greg?"

Nothing. He just laid there, drooling. Alright. He leaned in, kissed Greg's forehead. Nothing. Tom frowned and sighed, lifted Greg's arm away, wrapped a dressing gown around himself and looked down on him. He was still comatose and looked like a big mess of limbs, really, his arm now left stretching out over the mattress, his other arm behind him, his legs spread in a sort of running pose. It was cute. So cute. Tom sighed. Trouble. 

He showered, texted Rob's housekeeper, went out to meet her half an hour later and accepted a bag of fresh fruit and bread, and started on another world famous breakfast. When it was done he almost wanted to take a picture, it looked so good. Oh, fuck it. He got the iPad, photographed it. He bit his lip, opened Instagram. How the hell did you post on this thing. He tried a few different buttons before figuring out it was the one in the middle of the menu. _Breakfast for two_ he wrote, and posted. His first post. He slipped Mondale some ham. 

"That two will be you and me if he doesn't wake up soon," he told the dog, who scarfed it down in a second and then looked up again with imploring brown eyes.

"Huh?"

"Oh, good morning!" Tom said, watched Greg come downstairs, wearing boxers and a stripy T-shirt. "You hungry?"

"Uh huh," Greg said, walked over to crowd him against the kitchen counter and kissed him. Tom made a surprised noise but kissed back, grabbing at the back of his head. He tasted like toothpaste.

"Let's uh, let's go upstairs, uh," Tom said when Greg pulled away, but he just went to sit down at the table. 

"I actually am really hungry? So maybe we could eat first?"

Tom took a very deep breath. "Sure." Greg filled his plate up and Tom poured coffee from the press. "So ah, last night, was pretty special, right?"

Greg grinned, looked down. "Uh huh."

"Uh huh? That's it?"

Greg shrugged, still grinning. 

"Yeah okay, liar," Tom said. "I rocked your world."

*

A little later Tom was on his back on the sofa, Greg hovering over him and robe half-falling off him as Greg insinuated a big hand inside to stroke his arm, his shoulder, his ribs, his side. He whined into a kiss when Greg pinched a nipple and then the FaceTime sound went off. He pulled away to stare at his iPad. 

"That can wait, right?" Greg said.

"Uhh," Tom said. He reached out to the coffee table and tilted it. "it's Shiv."

"It can wait," Greg said again. "right?"

"I mean, it might be about... it might be about the case?"

Greg reached inbetween them to drag at the belt which was barely holding Tom's robe together and then it fell open. He licked his palm and wrapped a hand around Tom's dick, stroking slowly. "Maybe it can wait though?"

"Yeah," Tom said in a breathy voice. "it can wait."

His mouth met Greg's again, bumping and kissing and licking, and his hand found purchase in Greg's T-shirt and hiked it up, up past his ribs, and then slid down and slipped into his boxers. 

*

They didn't really leave the house that day, just venturing from living room to shower to bedroom, until they both realized they were starving and Tom volunteered to cook again. He enjoyed cooking. There wasn't time most days and Shiv was more of a snacker anyway, but he liked to think he was pretty good at it and enjoyed the chance to show off. He was simmering down onions and humming to himself when Greg came thumping down the stairs, calling out for Mondale. 

"I'm taking him for a walk," he announced, leashing the dog. 

"Oh uh? If you wait until later, we could go together?"

"Nah, I need to stretch my legs. You're not done yet right?"

"No... maybe in half an hour?"

Greg looked at his watch. "Okay. Half an hour."

He walked over and kissed Tom, then he did it again, then he pulled away grinning and turned to stride out the door with the dog. Tom looked after him a little wistfully, saw him close the gate outside. Then he ran over to the iPad and called up Shiv.

_"Hey, Tom!"_

"Hi Shiv!!"

_"You took your time getting back to me?"_

"Yeahh me and ah Greg were at the beach? Ah you know the, the membership... yeah, great weather today, super... hot-uh."

She scrunched her eyebrows together. _"Are you telling the truth right now?"_

"YES," Tom said, affronted.

_"Did you meet someone?"_

"No!"

_"Because I already told you it's cool, right?"_

"I swear to God, I've been with Greg all day," Tom said.

She tilted her head a little. _"Okay. Soo do you want to hear the latest?"_

"Yes."

Shiv told him about the developments, about the trial date and the press coverage. Tom kind of got the idea he should maybe have been paying attention to this stuff in the news and tried to pretend like he had. 

_"So the legal team thinks this could potentially drag out for weeks,"_ Shiv sighed. _"so I'm thinking about going to see the victim myself. Talk to her woman to woman. What do you think?"_

Tom frowned. "Really? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

_"No, I'm not sure, that's why I'm asking you."_

"I mean... pressuring... a victim? I don't... isn't it better to let legal deal with it? You're not even... you don't even work for your dad."

_"Actually, he made me a pretty good offer. So I might. And it wouldn't be pressuring, jesus christ. It would be a conversation."_

"I don't know Shiv. Maybe?"

_"Well, Nate thinks it could work."_

"Oh does NATE?" Tom asked, felt a little annoyed. "Well why do you need to ask me then?"

_"Tom!"_

"When do you think I can like, come back?"

_"I don't know, Tom. Hopefully talking to this woman means this can be over a little sooner."_

"Do you still want me to?"

_"Of course I do. Jesus."_

They wrapped up the conversation, and Tom trudged back to the kitchen. He felt a little bummed out. He'd seen the documents and he felt pretty shitty about having covered it all up. His first instinct had been to hold a press conference, but he'd gotten a stern speaking-to by Gerri which had put him off that idea. Witness intimidation, really? He didn't want to be party to that. When he'd told Shiv initially he'd... he wasn't sure what he'd hoped for. Not what he'd ended up with anyway. Even though... it was good. Confusing and a very bad idea and potentially a disaster, but still pretty good. 

It was nearly an hour before Greg and Mondale were back. 

"Oh it smells good!" he said walking inside, Mondale running inside and jumping up at Tom. 

"No, down, down. Come on."

"Hey!" Greg grinned. 

"Have a nice walk?"

"Yeah," Greg said. "I uh, met up with those guys, from uh..."

"Jesus, Greg, you total stoner."

"And I went by the like, the pharmacy." 

"The pharmacy?"

Greg threw a plastic bag at him and Tom fumbled to catch it. "Okay. Condoms and lube and uh... what the hell is that?"

"Oh, that's just something for, my foot situation," Greg said. 

Tom grinned. God help him. Even that was kind of cute.


	9. Chapter 9

It ended up being a nice night, they watched some dumb movie Greg chose and smoked in front of the TV. The movie was soon forgotten in favour of a languid makeout session Tom couldn't begin to guess how long lasted. They somehow eventually managed to go for a walk with Mondale without getting lost, the evening air clearing their heads a little, and when they got back Greg sweetly wrapped his fingers up with Tom's and led him upstairs. 

In Tom's bed they kissed and kissed, losing random items of clothing along the way. Eventually Greg wore his T-shirt and one sock and nothing else, Tom had his shorts on. He insinuated his arms behind Greg's back and hoisted him up a little, Greg eagerly hooking his arms around his shoulders, his mouth brushing over Tom's jaw and cheek and neck. 

"Here..." He pulled Greg's shirt off and pushed him back down on his back. He ran a hand down the length of his body and slipped it between his pale thighs. "okay?"

Greg nodded. 

A little later, the last couple of items of clothing discarded, Tom having clumsily fingered him and kissed away any winces, Greg turning his face into Tom's, Tom was slowly fucking him, Greg on his back, long legs drawn back, Tom's palms flat on either side of him for balance. He was so tight, so responsive, making little movements to meet his thrusts or stroke long fingers up his arms or dig his heels into the small of his back. Tom felt like he might drown in it all. He was making sweet moans and gasps and Tom's brain just sent a steady transmission of Greg Greg Greg _Greg_ to his mouth. Tom leaned down for a kiss, making Greg fold a little harder underneath him, and Greg's mouth opened and Tom swiped his tongue inside and then Greg pulled away quick, boring the back of his head into the pillow.

"Uhhh fuck," he gasped.

"What? Am I hurting you?"

"God, jesus, no, do that again, right there uh-"

Tom thrust in again at the new angle and Greg sobbed. Tom positioned himself so he had a little bit more control and found a rhythm, Greg reaching backwards to hold onto the headboard, face pressed into his right arm, mouth open. He looked beautiful, unreal. 

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," Greg whined and came, his body curling inwards and dragging Tom with it a little, Tom thrusting harder, open mouthed, until he too came with a choked sound. There was a moment of stillness laced with loud breathing and then Tom pulled away, discarded his condom, Greg reached out for a wet wipe and ran it over his stomach, and it had been so long since Tom slept with someone new really that he'd kind of forgotten what these moments felt like with somebody who wasn't Shiv, how they could be weird and awkward, but this just felt comfortable, sweet. 

"Turn around on your stomach," Tom said and Greg outright beamed at him.

After a nice, long massage which Greg rewarded with broken, drawn out sighs of pleasure Tom laid down next to him and Greg turned his head to the side to face him, hooded lids and slack mouth, lips parted a little.

"Go to sleep if you like," Tom said gently.

Instead Greg used his arms to hoist himself up, planted one on the other side of Tom and collapsed sideways on his chest, put his head on Tom's shoulder and looked intently at him. Tom suddenly wondered what he looked like from that angle. Big nose. Hopefully still just the one chin.

"Maybe I am speaking, out of turn, as it were, but uh I'd like to maybe, just, propose something, like, something for you to think about."

"Okay?"

"Imagine, okay, a world, a future,"

"It's easy if you try?"

"Uh, wherein, we... like, didn't get a divorce and you didn't reconnect with Shiv?"

The question was spoken quickly, in a rush. Tom made a face, sort of a disbelieving smile. "What?"

"I guess what I'm asking is if maybe... you could just, y'know, be mine."

Tom cleared his throat. "Greg..."

"Like you don't have to answer, I'd just like you to consider it? I mean I know I can't like, offer, the kinds of things she can, but like... maybe we could make each other happy?"

There was a dig hidden there, and Tom felt himself bristle at it, wanted to snap that he and Shiv were ecstatically happy together, thank you very much, but it felt kind of bad form to lie to someone you'd just come inside. Instead he reached a hand out to card through Greg's hair.

"Look," he said. "these are honeymoon days. Literally. It's not going to be like this all the time. Life is different when you're on vacation."

"I wanted it before we came here," Greg said. "how about you?"

Tom made another face. Didn't really want to admit to all that, for all he'd pursued Greg over the last couple of months. Come work for me, come hang out with me, here's your new office, right next to mine, come cover up crimes from the 90s with me, we'll be like Bonnie & Clyde except everybody will root for the police. "Aaaah," he said instead. "you did?"

Greg nodded. "You're like... attentive."

Tom snorted. "Oh, thanks. I thought you were going to say attractive there for a second."

"Yeah, that too," Greg said and grinned. His dimples really were adorable. Tom's heart felt full. He was definitely going to have to coax them out as often as possible. "but you're good at making people feel... I don't know. Seen maybe? Wanted?"

"I've been accused of being needy," Tom said. He could admit to that much, it wasn't too pathetic and transparent.

"Maybe," Greg said. "but I need you too."

Shiv had needed him, once. Needed him to get sober, to work out a work/life balance that wouldn't kill her by 40, to be a safe haven and a sounding board. He'd relished those tasks. But, in his darkest moments, he wondered if his usefulness hadn't expired. That was partly why he'd been so desperate to marry her. Her drinking was under control, she knew how to say no to work requests now, didn't constantly feel the need to prove she was more than her name, had got a good therapist to work out stuff with. But if he was her husband, a Roy - he could even be modern, take her name, Tom Roy had a ring, maybe Thomas Roy - he could be useful in new ways.

"What for?" he asked, curiously.

Greg pressed his lips together for a moment. "You make life fun," he said. "I like who I am when I'm with you."

Tom blinked. "Come here," he said, and Greg used his elbows to hoist himself closer to kiss. He rested a hand on Greg's warm, long neck, pressed his lips softly to his and he did try to imagine it. It wasn't very difficult. But Tom had been on enough vacations in his life to know it was easy to make promises when the sun shone and the days stretched out endlessly. It was even easy to mean them. But at one point you have to stop believing them, or your heart never stops breaking.


	10. Chapter 10

The days passed, blending pleasantly. Tom knew he should pay more attention to everything happening in New York, but it seemed so very far away. Greg hadn't raised the subject of what would happen in the After This again, which he was grateful for. Far nicer to just let the days roll along doing day trips to nearby villages to try out the local wines, hiking along bike trails with Mondale, and having an inordinate amount of very, very good sex. One night Tom arranged for Rob's housekeeper to look after Mondale and booked them a room in the Negresco hotel. They took a taxi down to the riviera and Greg looked a little uncomfortable in his black suit, hair sleeked back.

"Why do I have to dress up like this? Isn't it just like... a restaurant?"

"Yeah, a formal dress restaurant," Tom said. He wasn't sure what Greg was whining about, he looked great, and personally Tom enjoyed looking sharp. They could be spies out of a sixties novel, or a pair of Italian opera singers, or something. It was great. It was one of the things he really liked about this part of Europe, you could never be dressed up enough to stick out. Everyone looked like dicks.

"Why?" Greg frowned.

Tom sighed. "Because it's _classy,_ Greg. It's fun!"

"Let me guess, this place is, ah, obscenely expensive?"

Tom flashed all his teeth in a wide grin. "Oh, yes."

"Then you should be able to wear what you want."

Tom gave up. At least Greg looked moderately impressed when they entered the Negresco hotel, looking up at the domed ceiling. "Wow, it doesn't look this big from the outside!"

"Pretty cool, huh? This has been a hotshot hotspot for decades. Everybody who is anybody has stayed here."

The restaurant itself was beautiful too, they even spotted a film star sitting a few tables away. They got the chef's menu and Greg scraped foam off his plate on dish three, sucked it off his fork. 

"Good, huh?" Tom asked. 

"I mean, I guess," Greg said. "but there's barely any food? Like some melty vegetables and fish foam and uh... caviar? I mean, we're going to have to go order a pizza or something after this."

"There are four more courses to go, and then dessert," Tom said. "you'll be fine."

Greg looked a little sceptical, gave his plate an unenthusiastic smile. But he ate everything, even if he looked a little green when Tom told him the excellent bird meat was pigeon ("what, like in the parks pigeon? Uhh"), and complained about the serving size of the petit fours ("petit means small Greg, you can't have a big fucking slice of one, it's not called grand fours"). They also ordered the recommended wine tasting menu and were pretty sozzled by the end of it all, so it was a good thing Tom had ordered a suite for the night and it was only an elevator ride away. Greg looked around the rooms with an unreadable expression.

"What do you think?" Tom said. The suite was decently sized and the ornate furniture was colorful, decadent, in reds and golds and cream whites. It opened up to a large balcony with an ocean view.

"It looks like Disneyland," Greg said, opened a door. "uh, Tom?"

"What?"

"Are these... look at this."

Tom put his chin on Greg's shoulder from behind, looked into the bathroom, sniggered a little. "Nice, huh?"

"It's golden. It's a golden toilet. Are you seriously supposed to like, go, in that? Or is it just for show? Is there a normal one somewhere?"

Tom let his hands meet on Greg's stomach. "This is your normal now, Greg."

"I just... huh."

"Wanna sit down on the gold toilet and let me suck your dick?"

Greg's shoulders contracted with suppressed laughter. "Um, if it's all the same to you, that bed looked nicer."

He turned around in Tom's embrace, leaned down for a kiss, shuddered against him, long and sustained. Tom let his hand slide down inbetween them to grope at Greg's dick through his nice suit pants, and then Greg started walking him backwards and they fell together on the fancy king sized red bed. Greg moaned into Tom's mouth and Tom felt his hips jerk upwards in response, grabbed a fistful of black hair. Then Tom's phone went off, vibrated hard in his jacket pocket and made him flinch. 

"Uuhh," Tom said, fished it out and frowned at it. "Roman?"

"Roman? Roman Roy?" Greg almost looked nervous. 

"What on earth could he want?" Tom looked up at Greg.

"Are you going to take it?"

"Um, probably should..." he slid a thumb over the surface of his phone and accepted the call. "uh, hello?"

_"Hey, what's up, Wallace. You got Gromit there, too?"_

Tom put the phone on speaker. "Greg? Yeah, uh, Greg is here too. You're on speaker Roman."

Greg's eyes went wide. "Um, hi, Roman!"

_"Just thought I'd give you a little heads up that you, Tom, are going to get called in as a witness for the prosecution, which means Greg's invite is probably around the corner, too."_

"For- okay?" Tom said, frowning. "Is that good or bad?"

_"You better make it good, Tom. Look, Shiv has handled this whole thing super well, which is the only reason I haven't paid some French mime to strangle you in the night. And now you need to be a good boy and get the fuck back to New York and come into the office for me, okay? You owe me."_

"Owe-?"

_"Our legal team is going to brief you and grill you. You're not going to fuck this up. You come in, Gerri and the goon squad will put you to the wringer, you don't say any incriminating shit on the stand and then you and Cousin Greg can go back to making your ent porn."_

Roman hung up. Tom stared at his phone. 

"Oh, shit," Greg said. "that- that sounds not great?"

"Shiv hasn't told him," Tom said a little incredulously. "the family really think you and me ran off together."

"Um, we kind of did," Greg said.

"Well- well, you know what I mean! Jesus!"

Greg rolled off him, sat up on the bed. He took off his blazer, folded it up. "So we go back to the states?"

"Uh, yeah." Tom looked at his phone. "Yeah, I guess we do." He looked up at Greg, sitting cross-legged on the bed and holding on to his folded up jacket, his face a little blank. He started saying he was going to make it up to him, but then he realized he wasn't sure he would. He reached out and rested a hand on Greg's knee. "Let's uh, let's go back to the house, pack our stuff."

Greg looked away. "Okay. Uh. I need to..." he got up, found the minibar, downed a bottle of water. "I've got to try the toilet, at least."

A few hours later they were in another taxi, suitcases hastily packed, Mondale whining in his crate, on their way to an early morning flight to NYC. They were both quiet. Tom had that weird, wired feeling you have when you haven't slept all night, like your eyes feel too big for your head, your teeth involuntarily clench. Greg was leaning against the car door, arms crossed, half-asleep. Why would the prosecution call him in? What did they know? Who could have told them? What sort of briefing was he going to get? And why the hell hadn't Shiv let the family know their separation was temporary? Of course, the fewer people who knew the better, but still - they were _family._ Could it be possible that only Roman was out of the loop? He was kind of unpredictable. Did Kendall know? Did Marcia? Greg scratched at his head. Was he going to stroll into Waystar Royco a dead man walking? And what could Roman mean that Greg might have to witness, too? Not against him, surely, that was the whole, the whole point of-

He turned his head and looked at Greg, leaned away from him, white neck exposed, mouth slack. Well, whatever happened, Tom wasn't going to let anything happen to him. If he had to take the fall, he'd take it alone.


	11. Chapter 11

It was late when they got back to Greg's apartment. Tom unleashed Mondale and he ran and elegantly jumped into Greg's sofa, curled up and stared at them.

"God, Mondale, get down" Tom chided. "I'll get the crate, he needs to get used to it again."

"No he doesn't," Greg said "I don't mind."

Greg ordered takeaway while Tom had a tense conversation with Shiv in the living room, and looked as dejected as he felt after it.

"What did she say?" Greg asked, pulling boxes of Chinese food out of plastic bags and arranging them on his coffee table. Tom threw his head back dramatically.

"I think I'm fucked. Fucked. Legal says they must know something. They're briefing me tomorrow." He gave Greg a pitiful look. "They've set aside five hours! For just me! Jesus!"

"Maybe try not to think about it?" Greg suggested.

"Thanks Greg, great advice. Try not to think about how I'm probably going to jail."

"We'll go together, then. Maybe we can share a cell."

Tom studied his face, decided he was joking.

"We're not. They can't make us testify against each other, and um, you keep your mouth shut. I shredded those papers myself."

Greg frowned. "What?"

"I did it, just me, alone. Okay?" A silence. "Okay Greg?"

"God! You're not going to jail!" Greg thrust a box of egg fried rice at him, looked resolutely down.

*

Tom came out of the shower in clean crisp boxers and a white t shirt. Greg looked up at him from where he was lying in bed, put aside his... video game thing.

"What are you playing on your Gameboy."

Greg audibly sniggered, which was fairly rare. "It's a Switch. This isn't 1992."

"I wish it was," Tom said, sighed, flopped down on his back next to him. "I want to just have my stupid teenage problems and my stupid teenage friends and play soccer. And I'll come home and my dad will have cooked a roast and my mom will put on a classical music CD while we eat and then I'll go up to my room and put on some R.E.M and just... jerk off."

Greg turned on his side, looked at him. Tom looked back a little questioningly and turned too so they were face to face. Greg put a large hand on his cheek, leaned in for a kiss.

"You're super handsome," he said when he pulled back in his gentle voice, with his upwards lilt. He let his hand slide to the back of Tom's neck, stroked his fingers there, making little hairs stand up.

"Oh Greg, you really know how to woo a girl." His voice was gently mocking but his fingers caught in Greg's t-shirt.

"You have literally the prettiest eyes I've seen in my life. Like, not even dogs have eyes that pretty?"

Tom snorted with amusement.

"I think if I could look at your face every day for the rest of my life, I'd be pretty happy."

"Greg," Tom said but before he could say anything else Greg kissed him again. They kissed for a long time, not urgently, just nice and languid. Tom decided, fuck it, this _was_ 1992\. Except 1992 where he'd gone up to Matty on the soccer pitch and asked him what he thought of the new R.E.M. record and he hadn't scoffed and said they were sell-outs now, he'd said yeah it was great, and a 1992 where Tom hadn't gone home and cried to "Everybody Hurts" and wondered what the hell was so bad about making music more than 8 people liked, exactly, where he'd asked Matty if he wanted to come back to the house and listen to it with him and he'd said yes and they'd have listened to the whole record together in like cool indie kid silence, sitting shoulder to shoulder on Tom's bed, the green painted one in his room, and then Matty would have asked for him to play it again and Tom would have leaned over to press play on his CD-player and then Matty would have kissed him to the strains of "Drive" and oh, he'd had that fantasy so many times and it would have felt just like this, Matty had been taller than him, skinny like Greg, so he clutched Greg and all the fucking worries of the world melted away, like it was 19 fucking 92.

Greg pulled at his T-shirt so he raised his arms up and they undressed each other messily, Greg's hard dick pressed into his thigh, but all Tom could think to do was kiss and kiss like there would be no tomorrow.

Greg pulled away with a gasp, pushed at him a little. The covers were twisted around their feet. "Tom. Like, maybe you could turn around on your stomach?"

The words jolted him back to the present but he found he didn't really mind, just pressed a tiny kiss to Greg's lips and turned over, parted his legs. It had been a while since he'd done this, but now it was on the table Tom felt pretty excited at the idea. Greg let his hands run up the backs of his thighs a little reverently.

"Jesus CHRIST GREG" Tom blurted out when he felt Greg's tongue swipe wetly over his butthole.

"Uh, okay?"

"... yeah uh I yeah sure yeah" Tom babbled, shut his mouth with real effort and tried to relax. He still sobbed when Greg licked at him again, firmer this time, first up, then back down.

After god knows how long Greg had spent opening him up with his tongue and his fingers he was finally fucking into him, but slow, maddeningly slow, and Tom thought he might actually lose his mind. So he clutched at the sheets and bucked up a little on his knees, drawing a gasp from Greg, moved against him and tried to set a new pace. Greg moved from where he'd been half hovering over him and up on his knees for more control, pulling Tom with him with both hands, fucked him rougher and an entirely embarrassing stream of filth left Tom's mouth but Greg had the grace not to laugh. Eventually Greg braced himself on hands and knees over him and they moved together, ungraceful and reckless, and Greg god bless him was tall enough for Tom to be able to turn his head back so they could kiss and bite and lick at each other, and it really wasn't until Greg came hotly inside him he remembered condoms were a thing, but it was just a stab of regret that quickly dissipated when Greg's large, warm hand gripped around him and jerked him off for three, four strokes and his IQ had pretty much halved when they started this and now it halved again.

Greg pulled out and rooted through his bedside table for some paper towels, wiped the worst of the mess, balled them up and flung them on the floor. Then he kissed Tom's neck from behind, rested his cheek on Tom's back, slung an arm across it and shifted, getting comfortable half-lying on top of him. The room was quiet but for the sound of their strained breathing.

"We probably should have used protection," Tom finally said in a broken voice, felt stupid and sticky. He'd have to get tested before he slept with Shiv without it. God, imagine if he gave her some Greg-strain of herpes. Hirsch-es? They'd never find his body.

"It's nice without."

"Let's see how nice you feel when you have to pay child support, Greg." Tom could feel Greg's smile against the skin of his back.

"We wouldn't like, have to think about that stuff at all, if we were exclusive?"

Tom didn't answer.

"You remember what I like, asked you to think about?"

"Mm," Tom said noncommittally. Then he sighed. "it's... god, Greg. I love being with you. You're... But you uh. You were just never part of my plan. It's a lot to give up." He was glad he didn't have to look him in the eye.

There was a long silence. "You know. All my life. I kind of. Never really had a plan? I just, kind of, whatever. Even ending up at Waystar, my mom like bullied me into coming here after I got fired from the park, just to ask uncle Logan if I could have my job back. I never thought I'd get to work in the office, I just wanted back in the Doderick suit. Or not even wanted to, per se, uh, that job was pretty lame... I've never like... had ambitions or anything I particularly wanted to do."

"It's called being in your twenties," Tom said in a sleepy voice. As if he hadn't spent his studying law and minoring in economics, going to the right places, meeting the right people, living on ramen and tap water so he could buy the right suit for every occasion, look like money even when he didn't have a whole lot of it himself yet. He still knew how to find bargains.

"Yeah, maybe. But I want this. So much. Probably more than I ever wanted anything." His voice dropped, nearly to a whisper. "You. Me. Mondale, too. It could be a good life. I really think it could. Like, there's like... more to life than money? Right? Tom?"

Tom didn't answer, and Greg didn't insist, and he couldn't think of anything to say to all, so he just feigned sleep instead, made his breath go deep and even.

* * *

"It's going to be okay," Greg said, rubbed a spot at the small of his back. Tom just nodded and took a deep breath. They walked into the Waystar Royco HQ and up to the receptionist. She confirmed their appointment, gave them little visitor badges, buzzed them in. A flunky came running downstairs and guided them to the legal offices, like he didn't know where to fucking go. Everybody acted professionally and politely but Tom could... he could feel the curiosity vibrate off them. They all knew who they were. The flunky opened the door to one of the meeting rooms. Gerri and Frank were there, Roman for some godforsaken reason, two of the legal dept attack dogs. No Logan. And no Shiv. Tom was a little hurt. She hadn't said she'd be there, but he'd kind of assumed she would be.

"Aww, you came together!" Roman said. "How sweet. Moral support."

"Um, hi, Roman," Greg said.

"Tom, Greg," Gerri said. She looked sharp in an updo and blue blazer. "you look well. And ah, congratulations, of course."

"Thank you," Greg said.

"Yeah, you look faabulous," Roman said. "been eating well in France? A lot of coq au vin? Ass au gratin?"

Tom cleared his throat. "Shall we just get started?"

"Of course. Tom, Mike and David here are going to brief you, grill you and train you. It's of utmost importance you listen carefully to everything they tell you. We were surprised when we caught wind of you being called to the stand. Whatever it is they know, it can't be good. So we're going to cover all the bases and you're not leaving this office until you know how to answer every fuckshit question flung your way tomorrow."

Tom nodded. God, he hated this kind of thing.

"Greg, we don't have any time for you today," Gerri said. "it's not unlikely you'll get called in too, and then we'll have a new session for you and hopefully we'll know a little more about what they know and what angle to take."

"Yeah, I know," Greg said. "but uh, if it's okay, maybe I can just wait in a chair somewhere?"

Gerri frowned. "This will take all day."

"Yeah, I brought a game, and like, some cookies? And a coke?" Greg said. "So just like, maybe I can sit in my old chair or..."

Roman laughed. "Oh my god. Twu wuv!"

Gerri shot Roman a look, and nodded. "Sure, Greg. Amanda, find mr Hirsch somewhere to wait."

"Of course, if you'll follow me, mr Hirsch." Greg and the flunky whose name was Amanda walked down the hall. He shot a final look and smile at Tom over his shoulder, gave a thumbs up. On autopilot Tom gave one back.

Hours later he staggered down the corridor, drained and frankly, terrified. His hand trembled as he opened the door into the meeting space Greg was supposed to be. He sat there, long legs sprawling, enraptured in his game, his _Switch,_ empty cookie wrappers and an empty coke bottle on the table in front of him. He looked up at him and got to his feet. "Tom?"

Tom cleared his throat, nodded. "I'm uh, ready to go home."

Greg walked over and put long arms around him, and Tom helplessly hugged back, tight, buried his face in Greg's shoulder and tried not to cry. He blinked hard when he pulled back and Greg smiled gently at him. He looked very beautiful. "Yeah, let's go home."


	12. Chapter 12

Tom had always liked the NYC Court House, with its classical facade and air of history. He'd been a little awed when he'd interned there, years and years ago. But right now he'd rather be in an Alaska outhouse with moose diarrhea. The Plaintiffs vs Waystar Royco case would resume shortly, and Tom would lead the ball. Take the stand.

The grilling the day before had been brutal. He'd tried to leave a few times but the door had literally been locked and the attack dogs had calmly informed him "they weren't done yet" which was some... gestapo shit. They didn't even stick to work questions, they tried to assassinate his character, his... when he objected he'd been told, in the same calm tone, it was very likely the prosecution would try and make a point of his infidelity and "clandestine homosexuality" which sounded like something out of fucking Edith Wharton. He'd actually cracked, caved like a damp roof, admitted the marriage to Greg had all been a hoax, it had all been Shiv's idea, and they'd impassively told him they already knew but if he admitted that in court Logan would have his balls in a jar. He'd been exhausted when they got back to Greg's apartment. Mondale, picking up on his mood, had laid next to him on the sofa with his head on his thigh, whining a little until Tom reached out a hand to pet him, and then Greg had sat on the other side and hooked an arm around his shoulders and leaned his head to Tom's and he'd almost felt okay.

They'd got to the court house half an hour early the next morning. Logan had been there, Kendall, Gerri, Roman unfortunately, the six person legal team... and Shiv.

She looked breathtaking. She wore one of her sharply cut grey suits which were professional from head to toe but also a wine red top with an almost-risque neckline. God, she looked amazing in all shades of red, but especially the deep tones. The sometimes tense and shitty conversations they'd had during their time apart dissipated in his memory and he felt as dazzled by her as he'd done when they first met. As proud as the first time she told him she needed him. She was a goddess. And he wasn't- he wasn't some pathetic, middle-aged bisexual cheater, like the WR attack dogs had tried to paint him as. Well, okay, he kind of was, but that wasn't the person he _was!_ Like, deep down! He was _Shiv Roy's fiancee_ and the knowledge filled his chest, even as his anxiety was threatening to make him faint.

It was all he could do not to gather her up in his arms right there and then.

Instead she walked over, shot him a bright, warm smile which felt like the riviera sun and shook his hand. It made him dizzy. God, a month away from her and a handshake was enough to get him all aflutter, like he was a pining lover in a Jane Austen novel (he'd read them all, obviously).

"Keep your answers as simple as possible," Gerri said. "yeses, nos, I don't remembers."

Tom nodded. "Well ah... here goes nothing."

Greg had been a little withdrawn, hanging back and not saying much, but when Tom was about to step into the courtroom he took a long step forward, cut him off, placed a hand on the back of his head and kissed his lips firmly. 

"Good luck," Greg said. There was an awkward silence.

Roman broke the silence. "Eurgh," he said. "save it for David Attenborough's next erotic giraffe documentary."

Tom looked at Shiv, tried to read her expression. She wore a smile which looked amused, but it didn't reach her eyes. He swallowed, patted Greg on the arm, and walked out the door.

*

"You married mister Gregory Hirsch in a City Hall ceremony April third this year, correct?"

"Yes," Tom said. He touched his brow and his fingers came back wet.

"Now, you were technically still engaged to miss Siobhan Roy at this time?"

"Well uhh... we... had a conversation and I um considered us unengaged after that."

"When was this conversation?"

Tom cleared his throat. "About three weeks before my wedding to mr Hirsch."

Mumbled, scandalised noises rippled softly through the room, like an offended breeze.

"Am I to assume your relationship with mr Hirsch started while you were still engaged to miss Roy?"

"Uhh... well..."

"When did you initiate your relationship with mr Hirsch."

"Uh... I'd say... on an emotional level, probably since the first day we met, about three months ago."

"The very first day?"

"Well, emotionally, yes. The physical um aspect came later. I uh. Actually... our first ever conversation, I asked him if he'd kiss me. Uh. As a joke." Tom smiled weirdly. "But also not as a joke."

"I assume this has been a very... intense affair."

"Yes," Tom said.

"In fact, while mr Hirsch worked for you as your assistant, you e-mailed him on average 44 times a day."

"Well I mean you e-mail a lot in an office environment."

"About forty percent of these are work-related or presumably work-related, but the majority seem to be non-sequiteurs and mimis."

"I'm sorry?"

"Humorous images and videos."

"I believe it is pronounced meems," Tom said and immediately felt stupid. "not that it matters."

"Do you send - meems - to everybody you employ?"

"Um. No. Just to Greg. Uh. Mr Hirsch."

"Objection," the Waystar lawyer said, standing up. "is there a point to this beyond humiliating miss Roy by detailing her former fiancee's banal affair with her cousin?"

The judge shot the prosecuting lawyer a stern look.

"I am simply establishing context for my main questions."

"I'll allow it, but hurry up."

"You became Head of Cruises at Waystar Royco around the same time you first met mr Hirsch, and started, your words, an emotional affair with him. Am I right in assuming you discussed confidential work matters with him?"

Tom felt the color drain from his face. "Well, yes, he was my assistant."

"You see, mr Wambsgans, I am curious about the timing of all this."

Tom felt like he really might faint. He drank some water. It was tepid.

"You're a law-abiding man, aren't you mr Wambsgans?"

"Yes."

"Nothing in our records show you've ever done anything but play fair. Is it possible that you learned something in your brief time as Head of Cruises, something you discussed with your lover, Mr Hirsch, that made you both decide to leave Waystar Royco and start a new life together?"

Tom blinked. "No, that's not what happened." He looked out into the room, Gerri was whispering to Kendall. He caught her eye and she shot him a little smile, lips parted in what looked a lot like triumph.

"You were paid a very large severance, 7 million dollars, did this come with an NDA?"

"Um? No, in this line of work that's a fairly normal severance sum. A little on the generous side for someone who held the role as briefly as I did but, um, I think the family just wanted to get rid of me as quickly as possible."

"Did you sign an NDA, mr Wambsgans?"

"Um not relating to this, no?"

"But you have signed one?"

Tom shrugged. "Of course. I'm not allowed to discuss the particulars of my relationship with Shiv or the Roy family at large. It's to stop me from trying to sell my story to the tabloids."

A wince passed over the prosecuting lawyer's face. "No more questions, your honor."

"Anything from the defense?"

The Waystar lawyer stood up. "You were on your honeymoon when you were called to trial, correct?"

"Yes, uh. In the south of France."

"Have a good time?"

"Yes. Um. Very."

"You love your husband?"

Tom looked up, caught Greg's eye. He was staring at him from his seat in the other side of the room, eyes huge and black. "Yes," Tom said, returning his gaze. "I do."

"Well, I put before the court that the prosecution has read too many romantic thrillers, that mr Wambsgans and mr Hirsch left their positions simply because they wanted to be together and Mr Wambsgans' previous relationship with miss Roy made staying at Waystar Royco untenable, and that they should be allowed to resume whatever the hell they were doing and stop wasting the court's time."

"Objection," the prosecution said.

"Strike the last remarks from the record," the judge said tiredly. "thank you, mr Wambsgans."

Tom looked around, confused. That was it? He hadn't even had to lie, well, he'd obfuscated a bit, but no more. He got up and walked down into the seating area, next to Greg. Greg grabbed his hand hard and leaned down, lips very close to his ear. "I love you, too." His voice was small, half-whispered. Tom's thumb rubbed a little pattern on Greg's hand. His heart was beating wildly in his chest.

"They have nothing," Gerri said when they were back in the office. "they just showed their hand. They're desperate."

"Can you like, explain it, in case not everybody in the room understood what just happened?" Greg asked.

"We thought they had something on us, on Tom," Gerri said. "we thought that was why he was called to the stand. But they gambled on some scenario they concocted where Tom was too pure of heart to get involved with any shady business dealings, which means they have no real evidence to back their claims and are truly desperate. Because they know we know that now." She laughed a little incredulously. "I think we just won."

Shiv made a happy noise, grinned a bright smile, walked over to Tom and jumped up into an embrace. Tom's arms came up around her automatically. He looked at Logan, over her shoulder, and he nodded at him, looked almost approving. It wasn't a look he was used to being sent in his direction.

"I missed you," Shiv whispered, very softly, almost mouthed it. But when Tom let her go, grinning stupidly, he glanced over at Greg and his eyes were dark.

Kendall stepped forward, shook Tom's hand. "Well done. And uh, we should talk. You're still family, and if Shiv doesn't want you dead, well then neither do I." He looked over at Greg. "you should both come back in the fold."

"I guess we uh have to think about that?" Greg said. "Tom?"

"Nonsense," Logan said. "what's to think about? This is a family business, always have been, always will be. Let's all go out to celebrate a great fucking day in court."

"Umm," Greg said.

"Yeah, great!" Tom said, turned to look at Greg. "Don't be a stick in the mud, honey."

Shiv grinned, genuinely amused this time. They went to a private room in Logan's favourite restaurant, and Shiv crowded Tom, sat next to him. Greg ended up next to Kendall. She looked so beautiful. All night she was fun, charming, they talked about the last time the two of them had been to Nice, she laughed when he told her how much money they'd lost in the casinos.

"So are you coming home with me tonight, Wambsgans?" Shiv whispered.

"Umm," Tom said. "that's probably not wise."

"You heard what Gerri said. The rest are formalities. Nobody's going to care. On the off chance someone asks we'll make something up, it won't be hard. Come on, I miss sleeping next to you."

"Well there's Mondale uh and"

"Greg can dogsit, right? I'll ask him."

"I uh, I'll ask him!"

"Okay, great." She put her hand on his thigh under the table, stroked upwards a little and smiled. God, he'd missed her brilliant smiles.

Tom didn't ask Greg if he could dogsit, he followed Shiv outside on a smoke break and then they kissed and left and never came back.

Later Tom was lying on his own bed, the lovely and familiar weight of Shiv lying naked on top of him, her arms crossed over his chest and supporting her head, looking at him. He supported her with both arms. This felt right. He was her rock. This was how things should be.

"Okay, tell me something, because I have this weird feeling."

"Okay."

"You and Greg... Well. Obviously I know he's gay. Did something happen there?"

"Wait, you knew?"

She shrugged, he could feel the movement. "He's not super loud about it. Unresolved dad issues, I guess. Relatable. But it's never been a secret. You didn't answer my question, Tom."

Tom grinned, about to launch into a laughing denial. Then his grin faded. He loved Siobhan Roy. They'd been together for two years and she said she'd marry him. Shiv Roy, the greatest catch in New York City. And there was the promotion they'd discussed. ATN. Media. Being able to shape well, the whole of American politics and discourse. They'd be a power couple. No, they'd be _the_ power couple. He wanted those things. But he wanted them on the right terms, too. No more lying, no more deception. What had the attorney called him? Someone who played fair.

"Yeah," he said, then swallowed.

Shiv's expression was neutral. Then she nodded. "Okay."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"You slept together."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Shiv."

"No, I'm, I'm... look, um, there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you. Just, the kind of relationship we have. You remember I told you if you wanted to fool around with someone I'd be an adult about it?"

"Yeah." Tom wondered if that courtesy was extended to include male relatives.

"Well, I've been doing some thinking, and I just don't think I'm meant to be in a monogamous relationship."

Something jagged and mean turned in him like a kidney stone. "That Nate guy? Your coworker?"

"Yes."

He gently pushed her off him and sat up, frowning. She sat up too, put her chin on his shoulder. "You don't get to be jealous after telling me you slept with Cousin Greg of all people, Tom."

"No, I know, I..."

"I love you, Tom. You make me laugh. You're good for me. I'm good for you. And it sounds like we both- just want to live, you know? Like we're on the same wavelength?"

"Ah-"

"And I don't have a problem with you wanting to fuck men... in fact I think that maybe opens up some fun possibilities for us."

Tom blinked.

"But not Greg, Tom. Not him. Some boundaries are there for a reason. He's my cousin, for fuck's sake. We used to play video games together."

"He still plays them."

Shiv laughed. "What do you think, Wambsgans?"

"Before... before Greg, I never cheated on you," he said. "I never even thought about it."

"It's not cheating if we're agreed," Shiv said.

He looked at her. Her feline eyes, the sweet dusting of freckles on her arms. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. Of course she wasn't going to come easy. He nodded.

She smiled and it was radiant. "Let's get married on my birthday," she said. "I want a fall wedding."

Tom had trouble getting to sleep that night. Shiv slept on her side, curled up, he lifted their covers a little bit and looked fondly on the curve of her back and her spectacular ass. He reached down on the floor and gingerly fished his phone out of his pocket, saw the missed calls and messages from Greg. He chewed his lip. It had been a beautiful vacation. It had been a romantic little fairy tale. For a little while he felt like there was no war he wouldn't fight for Gregory Hirsch. But he wasn't an idiot. Vacations end, normalcy sets in. Even just entertaining the idea that he'd run off with Cousin Greg as long as he'd done had been crazy and hilariously naive, he wasn't 20 anymore. He was going to marry Shiv, he was going to become a Roy, he was going to be a father, a successful businessman, he was going to be insanely rich. He was going to have it all. Yes, he'd done some stuff in his life and things hadn't always gone quite to plan, but his woman - his amazing woman - was non judgemental and accepting and he'd never have to lie to her again. He opened his Message app and clicked on Greg's name.

_I'm so sorry._


	13. Chapter 13

ONE YEAR LATER

Tom had never been one for tailored suits, better to just find a good fit and save some money, but tailoring was pretty inexpensive in Hong Kong, compared to what he was used to. And even more inexpensive in Shenzhen! His new job had given him a week to reacclimatize before he had to come into the office, already on his second day he'd taken the train in to Shenzhen, his new copy of _An insider's guide to shopping in Shenzhen_ in hand. It wasn't just because he was in the market for retail therapy, but he'd never actually been to Hong Kong before and the heat and humidity had nearly knocked him out when he stepped outside the airconditioned airport and he quickly realized all the NYC suits he'd brought with him would suffocate him. But he'd now been fitted for seven new linen shirts and suit pants in light fabrics. Until then he'd have to get by in T-shirts and shorts, but seeing as how he wasn't at work yet and nobody knew him it wasn't too bad. He could just be a tourist.

His apartment was a hell of a lot smaller than the one he'd shared with Shiv, a one bedroom on the tenth floor. That was also through his work, and his new assistant Marlene claimed that for HK this was a pretty damn good size and the location was of course spectacular. He'd been a little disappointed but well, it was just him now, him and Mondale, and it was enough, really, and it was in great shape - air condition (vital), new bathroom and kitchen. And the sunset view from his living room window over Victoria Harbour had taken his breath away. He'd made himself a G&T and just stared for a long time.

Hong Kong was exciting. He liked the energy. He liked the friendliness. He was also pretty excited about his new job - an executive position at Disney. Disneyland Hong Kong was planning some major restructuring. With his experience in Parks at Waystar he'd been a good candidate for an American liaison, and when he explained his deep personal desire to move to Hong Kong they'd nodded approvingly.

At the interview he'd talked passionately about Cantonese cuisine, language and cinema. But he had left out the main reason he wanted to go.

Kendall had offered them both jobs, him and Greg, that day. Without Tom knowing, Greg had called Kendall and asked for a transfer to one of the parks abroad. Tom had gone by his apartment, with some idea about maybe explaining and apologizing, and he'd been gone, and he'd had to find out from fucking Roman of all people. He'd sent a lot of texts and e-mails, which had gone unanswered and unread. Greg had sent his signed divorce papers in the post.

One day there had been a shooting incident at ATN. Greg had texted him then. _Are you okay?_  
Tom had been, by then, and he'd told him. He asked how he was. No reply. He tried calling. Greg didn't pick up.

Tom wasn't sure how he'd go about meeting Greg, but from his instagram he had a fairly good idea of his hangouts, and already on his fifth day he got lucky. He and Mondale had sat down in a chilled out cafe which allowed dogs inside (Greg followed them on instagram), tucking into a decent Eggs benedict. Mondale was half asleep at his feet, the heat made him a little drowsy, less wired.

"Neih hou aa," he heard behind him. The words were unfamiliar but the voice was not. "you good? Yeah? Regular for me, thanks Jimmy. And for Ricky too, haha."

Ricky? Ricky? _Ricky?_ He whipped his head back and there was Greg, tall, tan, shorter hair - with a bearded little Jack Russell type dog on a leash. Ricky, presumably. He breathed a sigh of relief. Mondale started barking and howling excitedly, recognizing Greg, greeting his dog. He pulled away so hard Tom couldn't stop him, the leash burned in his hand and he let go, and Mondale ran over, jumped Greg. The Jack Russell started yapping in a surprisingly gruff voice.

"Oh my- oh my god, Mondale??" Greg looked up at Tom and their eyes met. Time froze for a moment before Tom got up, got Mondale under control.

"Greg, hi!!" he said, grinning.

"What- what are you doing here?"

"New job, at Disney. Back in the parks world, haha. Yeah I'm here for, two years, maybe more if there are delays in the project or well, if I like it. So far I do!"

"I- yeah, I know you left Waystar. And uh, I heard about you and Shiv."

Tom nodded. "Join me? Please?"

There was a tortuous silence, then Greg nodded, joined him at the table.

"You look well! Healthy! Look at you! And you have a dog!" He reached down to pet the Jack Russell. "HELLO!" he told the dog in a Scooby Doo voice. The dog looked quizzically up at him.

"Yeah uh, his name is Ricky... uh, yeah." Greg carded a hand through his hair. "Having Mondale around was like... I knew I wanted to have a dog after that. Ricky uh, I adopted him, his old owner died. He's super old, he's really chill."

"You left your mark, Mondale!"

"Yeah, the night after the court case thing, I basically just held him and cried all night."

WELL. Tom had assumed they might build up to this conversation, over time. He cleared his throat, let the silence linger a little bit in the air. "Um. Remember the night you asked me well, uh, if I wanted to be exclusive? With you?"

Greg looked away, which was answer enough.

"Well, that night I went home with Shiv she said she wanted to have an open relationship. Haha. Talk about karma."

Greg stared at him. "What? Like... you guys were... poly?"

Tom grimaced. "No GREG, Jesus CHRIST, it wasn't a fucking COMMUNE!"

"Well, you're the expert."

"It's- an open relationship- well, you can have other sex partners or whatever, it's allowed."

"So like cheating but it's okay."

Tom winced. "Something like that."

"Sounds like something you'd enjoy."

Tom tilted his head, studied Greg's annoyingly opaque face. He didn't enjoy these jabs, but there was something there. Anger could be good. Anger could mean there were still some feelings there, some hopeful buds underneath the weeds.

"No, it was actually awful." Tom laughed, but it really had been. "She was into it, I was sad and jealous and unhappy. She tried to make me have threesomes. Plural."

"You didn't want to?"

"No, I didn't fucking want to. I weaselled my way out of them. The last time it happened was kind of the last straw. We ended our engagement the next day." He sighed deeply.

"What happened?"

Tom turned bright red. The memory was raw and mortifying, even after three months. He'd never really raised his voice to Shiv, that wasn't how he was raised, it wasn't how he spoke to women. But he'd yelled at her in the ensuing fight. When asked, Shiv insinuated she broke up with him, and not the other way around, but Tom really didn't care. "I'd rather not talk about it," he mumbled.

Greg shrugged. "You brought it up."

"Yeah, I know." He scratched his head. "I fucked up. I thought I could have it all. You were right."

"I was?"

"Some things are more important than others. And maybe... things can be like, easy? And good? I thought for sure things were good with us because of, you know, vacation, sun, no responsibilities, good food... and that we'd just end up resenting each other when life got back to normal and we'd made all these sacrifices. But god. It _always_ felt good being with you. Even- ha, even at work, even before... And ah, being in a relationship where you constantly have to wait and fight and work for the good times to happen, and it's kind of a crapshoot no matter what you do... I used to think that was normal. But maybe there are other normals. And _that's_ what I want. More than- more than anything, I guess." He swallowed.

They were quiet for a spell. "You really fucking hurt me," Greg said.

"I know."

"I'm like, okay, now, I wasn't for a long time."

"I'm sorry." He was.

"You can't, like you really can't, just come waltzing in and expect everything to just be the way it was."

"No." He looked at him hopefully.

"No," Greg said, shaking his head. "whatever you're thinking, it's not going to happen."

"Sure," Tom said reasonably. "I get that. But I mean... I'm new in this town, we were friends once, and uh, Mondale sure misses you. Maybe we can hang out? A little?"

Another silence. "Yeah," Greg finally said. "okay. I know it's hard to be new in a different country."

They made plans for the day after the next, caught each other up a little. The conversation turned from raw to polite, and for a moment things felt kind of normal. Easy. Greg finished his stuffed baguette thing, got to his feet. "I'm actually on my lunch hour. I have to go. But uh, see you around, Tom."

Tom gave him a full-toothed grin, and a thumbs up. A look of amusement brushed over Greg's face, and for a moment his dimples appeared. He quickly shot a thumbs up back, turned and left. Tom watched him go, stroked Mondale's head. He smiled. He'd fought for a good thing before. This time, he felt a little more confident he'd win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who stuck with this! Come find me on [tumblr](http://iamtheremin.tumblr.com) :)


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